Lightning Blades
by CarnagexElite
Summary: To the right person, a place like the Mass Effect universe is ripe for the picking. Success, strife and everything in between must be navigated in order to prepare for the ultimate threat; safety is an illusion. To hell with Shepard, you want to survive? You do it your own way, be a leader, not a lackey.
1. Chapter 1

Lightning Blades

Disclaimer: Don't own Mass Effect copyrights. (N.B. I am not a physicist, so if I get anything wrong, please just bear with it and try to enjoy the story, thanks).

* * *

My name is Anastasia Volkov, and I've somehow ended up in Mass Effect. So I bet you're thinking that I'm somehow going to immediately fall in with Cerberus and gain the skills I need to help Shepard, or I'm going to meet an Asari with major combat experience that wants to take me on because she sees some potential?

Yeah no, that's not going to happen. For one, I have no money, save for a couple of twenty pound notes, and two, I don't even know where I am, save that I'm likely somewhere on the Citadel since the architecture looks familiar.

I've played the games, at least once each; enough to know what the Citadel looks like, for the most part at least.

I decide to walk around and observe my surroundings a little, wondering if I can pick up some details, but alas, I can't hear anyone speaking English or Russian. There are a few humans about, but I haven't been able to hear any of them.

I mean seriously, what the fuck do I do? In stories like this something always happens to get the person that's ended up in an alternate universe started, some omnipotent entity gives them some direction, or they fall into a situation that gives them an objective.

I don't know how to set up a new identity, I don't know how to insert myself into a place I've never seen before; I know nothing! And millions of people enter and leave the Citadel every day, C-Sec are no going to pick up on a random person with no identity immediately, if at all. All I can rely on is myself.

Hell, I majored in theoretical physics and minored in engineering, and that all means potentially nothing in the face of a universe that is 1. Presumably so many years ahead technologically and scientifically that my knowledge will be practically useless and 2. May operate on a slightly different set of rules than my home universe.

I stop outside what looks like an internet café to think for a moment. I've somehow ended up in the Mass Effect universe. Naturally, I don't know what year it is or anything, and I only have what was with me when I was sent here somehow…

I turn out my pockets. I have my Galaxy S7 phone, which has no Wi-Fi signal or reception. I check my other pocket and retrieve my wallet (carrying a handbag and a purse is such a hassle, seriously, just wear jeans with big pockets and use a wallet, it's so much easier), and look inside. The two £20 notes I knew I had, a card for a dentist appointment, some change, my driving license, my N.I. card and my gym card.

None of which is particularly useful.

What am I supposed to do in a universe that as far as I knew only existed in a game? It's not like the codex covered everything in that game, and I didn't even read all of that! Besides, real life is a lot more complex than what any game could replicate…

Alright then. The first thing I need is information. I doubt there are any libraries around, and even if there were I wouldn't know what one would look like and if they'd even have books in English.

So that means I need access to the extranet, but to do that I either need an omnitool or a computer. Lucky me I'm standing outside an internet, or well, 'extranet' café. Well I say that but I've been walking for a good twenty minutes, I was bound to find something, it's not like I'm stuck in the wilderness or anything.

I wonder if those already existed or if humans brought the idea and it cottoned on? Whatever, it doesn't matter.

In the games Shepard only ever waves her omnitool and it transfers credits, I believe that's basically the same as using a credit card here, since I remember in the second game there's that argument between a Volus and a Quarian about the Volus' credit chit. Which leads me to believe that credit chits are the equivalent of small change.

So, the question is, how do I get some chits? I could scrounge around for any that anyone has dropped, but I have no idea how likely people are to drop them. I could mug someone, but I don't know if there are any C-Sec nearby, nor anywhere quiet that I could do it, and even then, I wouldn't know if whoever I mugged would have any chits.

I could beg, but I don't look like a beggar and to be honest that's going to be my last option. I need a plan. The only people I could talk to would be other humans, since I'm pretty sure the omnitool has a real time translator in it and I don't have an omnitool. I need to convince a random human that speaks English or Russian to lend me enough money for a coffee so I can use the extranet in the café.

I look around and realise something; I look very different to most people around, enough to get some looks. Most everyone is wearing those bland modern clothes like you see in the games. I however am wearing a pair of torn and faded denim jeans, a tight black t-shirt and black DMs. Plus I have long black hair dyed red at the ends, as well as a lip piercing, an eyebrow piercing, a nose stud and three studs and a bar in each ear, all silver. I also have a full sleeve tattoo on my left arm.

Yeah, I stand out a little. I wonder what everyone, especially the aliens, are thinking as they look at me?

As luck would have it I see a European looking human (hopefully that means they're more likely to speak English) walking in this general direction. I walk offset from his path so that it doesn't seem like I'm confronting him, and try to get his attention.

"Excuse me, sir?" I say loudly in slightly accented English; I moved to London from Vladivostok when I was eight, old enough that I will always have a bit of an accent, but not too young that it will ever disappear completely.

He looks up at me and his eyes widen slightly in what I think is fear. I raise my hands to show I'm not holding a weapon or anything. "Y-yes? What d-do you want?" He asks shakily, but at least he's speaking English, an American by the sounds of it, so I suppose his ancestors were European at least.

"I'm sorry to bother you, my omnitool was stolen along with my credit chits, and without the translator I can barely speak to anyone. Could I beg enough credits to buy a coffee so I can use the computers in the café? I just need to contact someone for help."

He looks at me for a moment, no doubt taking in my appearance, but when his eyes flick to my wrist and see the lack of omnitool (which I can now see is a clear plastic wristband) they soften a little, and I can't help but do a little victory dance in my head.

"Ah, of course miss. A coffee costs around 30 credits, but you look like you need a break, so here's a hundred so you can get some food as well," he says kindly, and hands me a chit with a small holographic '100' on it. I smile brightly at him and thank him. He's about to move off when I think of something else.

"Oh!" He turns back to look at me. "You wouldn't happen to know where the nearest shelter I can bunk down for the night is, would you?" I remember that Quarian I mentioned earlier saying about surviving in a Turian shelter, so I imagine there are other shelters on the Citadel for the races that inhabit it.

Also considering the Presidium looks pretty damn far away I must be quite low down on the wards, so I imagine there's bound to be somewhere relatively close by.

"Of course, there's an Asari shelter a three minute walk back the way I came from, it'll be on your left, big blue sign; you can't miss it. Glad I could help…?"

"Volkov. Anastasia Volkov," I reply, thankful that I'm not going to have to go hunting for somewhere to sleep tonight.

"And I am Walter Marks, a pleasure to help you." I can't help but feel a little lucky that that went so well, but I also think I just made a good judge of character. They say first impressions mean nothing, but we wouldn't have them otherwise, would we?

"Thank you Walter, I appreciate it." He nods and walks away. Step one of my vague plan complete. Now let's just hope that the server in the café is either human or doesn't talk much and just accepts the money.

I walk in normally, trying not to let my nerves show. I walk right up to the counter since there's no line and wait for someone to come out and serve me. The place is very human-esque, black and white tiled floor and clean stainless steel counter with some advanced looking coffee machines behind said counter. All in all a nice place.

I stop my observations and feel my stomach drop a little as an Asari greets me in whatever language the Asari speak (although maybe they still have different languages like Earth does?). I decide to just wing it, hoping she said 'what can I get you?'

"Um, yeah, can I get a coffee and… some food that I can afford after getting that coffee," I say, holding out the credit chit. She takes it and nods, and then says something else. I look at her blankly. She frowns and I start to panic a little.

I hold up my hands in a pacifying gesture, hoping it isn't something insulting in Asari culture. Her glare intensifies until she sees my wrists and notes that I don't have an omnitool, at which point she adopts a look of shock.

From the reactions I've had so far, I get the feeling that not having an omnitool is a rare thing.

"Oh, I am sorry madam, I did not realise," she says in slightly French accented English, and evidently she sees the surprise that crosses my face. "You are surprised I speak English, yes? I make it a point to learn at least the main language of the different races here, it is good for business," she explains with a smile.

I release a sigh of relief; this is going to makes things much easier. "That's a relief. So what were you saying before?"

"Ah, I was asking what you wanted as we have a few things that you could afford. I recommend a couple of sweet rolls, they're our specialty," she says.

"Thank you, that sounds good. On another note, I just want to make sure that I am allowed to use the computers here after buying something, aren't I?" She looks at me funny and then laughs a little.

"Aha, I'm sorry, the computers here are free to use, you don't have to buy something to use them," she explains, and then turns around and begins preparing the coffee and the sweet rolls.

Face, meet palm.

All of that and I could have just walked in and used them anyway! And from the way she laughed, it's common for that to be the normal way of doing things… which leads me to wonder why Mr. Walter Marks didn't say anything. Maybe he just doesn't use extranet cafés? Oh well, it isn't important now anyway, I'm unlikely to ever see the guy again.

Anyway, this is why I need to do some intense history and culture reading; it's the little things that will trip me up and make it a nightmare trying to function. I need to establish in my head a behavioural protocol that won't make me look like some whack job with brain damage.

I don't want to be carted off to a padded room just yet thank you very much.

With that, and receiving my coffee and sweet rolls, I sit down at a computer and try to figure out just how to use this alien OS.

* * *

Ok, so it only took five minutes, the OS was kind of intuitive. I wonder what to research first, but then considering my degree I figure I'll look at major scientific advancements of the 21st century and go from there.

I type 'the discovery of the Higgs Boson,' into the search bar at the top of the page (the computer uses a search engine called 'IniFurtix,' but there is thankfully next to no difference compared to Google). Imagine my surprise when it pops up with 'No direct matches found.'

'Gravitational waves 2016' – No direct matches found.

'A-symmetrical particles' – No direct matches found.

'Closed-time-loops' – No direct matches found.

I was working with a rather large research group that was bouncing between labs across Europe before I somehow ended up here, and those were some of the more exciting experiments and discoveries being investigated at the time (at least in the scientific community).

And yet there's not a single mention of them, not even a hypothesis stated in a history book if what I'm reading is right. Some more time spent researching shows that this version of Earth was somewhat behind my original one, and around the 2030s all of the scientific research and investigation that I'm familiar with halted in light of the discovery of Element Zero.

More research shows that all of the other species in the galaxy did exactly what humans apparently did; they took the easy route. And it's reached a point where people don't even realise that they're thinking inside of a box.

A box which as far as I can tell shouldn't work. Now, there are deeper mysteries of physics than I care to count and gravity hadn't been included in the Standard Model when I left, but what we did have worked, and the mass effect breaks that.

The explanation behind the Mass Relays, in Layman's terms is that, according to the extranet anyway, the 'mass free corridor' they create massively increases the speed of light so that ships can travel faster without approaching a speed that would result in excessive time dilation.

The problem (bear with me here) there is that if the speed of light changes, then just about every constant of the physical universe is broken, which more than likely would result in the instant destruction of the object attempting the journey.

Assuming that the speed of light could change in a localised area without breaking the universe, the energy requirements to approach the original speed of light would still border on infinite and due to the reference frame of the rest of the universe there would still be a time dilation.

Even if the mass of the ship and everything in it was lowered to a point barely above zero, the energy requirements for approaching the speed of light are still exponential, with the speed of light representing the point at which the required energy to speed conversion is infinite.

And finally, if the mass of the ship was lowered to zero, it would cease to exist. Mass is defined by a particle's interaction with the Higgs Field. Every bit of mass in the universe vibrates. This vibration is what allows the particle to interact with the Higgs Field and causes it to have mass. Also, not only would reducing mass to zero stop interaction with the Higgs Field and thus erase the existence of that particle, everyone in the ship would freeze to death first as they approached absolute zero, since the speed at which a particle vibrates translates to its thermal energy.

Not to mention cooling something to absolute zero is as impossible as reaching the speed of light since E = mc2 (Energy is equal to mass multiplied by the speed of light squared), and energy cannot be created or destroyed.

So there, a little physics lesson for you. In short, this universe shouldn't work since apart from Element Zero and its magical mass affecting properties, it operates under the same universal constants as my home universe as far as I can find. There may be things of which I'm unaware, but the fact that the Citadel produces artificial gravity via centrifugal force as well as Element Zero suggests otherwise.

It occurs to me that this provides an opportunity. Everything in this universe, from space flight to weapons, operates through eezo (that is so much easier to say than element zero, honestly.) Eezo does these things by manipulating mass and therefore gravity.

Gravity is the weakest of the four fundamental forces, since a relatively massive amount of mass is required to have a noticeable effect. Electro-magnetism on the other hand is much more powerful. What I mean by that is that if you took two amounts of mass, they would have a gravitational attraction of the value A. If you were to give these masses equal and opposite charges, the strength of attraction would be A x 10 to the power of 39.

Now, this is important because as far as I can tell, technology where and when I am now is at a point that electromagnetism could be used in place of or in conjunction with eezo on a macro level. The problem is that electromagnetism occurs on an atomic scale, and so does not easily transfer to person sized equipment. Eezo could solve that by allowing much more powerful charges to be used in systems designed to make use of attraction and repulsion.

If it is possible, it will allow me to have much more powerful weapons and shields both on a personal level and on a ship. That degree in physics and engineering is looking pretty sweet at the moment.

I eat my sweet rolls. They're not bad.

* * *

I knew the shelter the moment I saw it, and not because of the information Walter had given me.

In the game, all of the Asari you interact with are part of high society, have secure jobs, work as dancers in clubs or are commandos.

It's quite jarring to see an emaciated Asari.

The woman is entering the shelter wearing rags that barely cover her modesty. She looks like I could fit my thumb and little finger around her wrist. Her collar bones, ribs and hip bones all protrude sharply from lack of flesh covering them. Her skin has green splotches and the blue seems faded and weak, giving way to grey, indicating lack of nutrition and disease if I'm guessing right.

She's not the only one I can see, the opening to the shelter is quite open, but she's the most different looking, and I can't help staring. Unfortunately, just as I'm about to look away, she turns and catches my eyes.

Her eyes are sunken and wrinkled, where the whites on a human would turn yellow, hers has lines of the same green as the splotches on her skin snaking their way to her irises.

She shambles towards me, and even that looks to be somewhat of an effort for her.

Once she's close enough she looks me up and down with a critical eye, and I can catch a slight wheezing with every breath she takes. Her eyes roam from my lack of omnitool to my piercings to my boots. I can't tell if she's planning on stealing them or not; she wouldn't exactly be hard to fight off.

"You speak English girl?" I nod, not trusting my voice, because she sounds like she's from Liverpool. It's somewhat disconcerting, but the aliens would have to learn English from someone, and that someone could have come from Liverpool.

"Good. The name's Kiellan, and I help this 'ere shel'er screen people. We don' want no thieves or nasty sor's round 'ere, you hear?" I nod again, trying to put on a trustworthy sort of face.

From the look she gives me, I don't think it worked.

"Why you in a place li' this?" Oh god now she wants me to speak. I feel like Austin Powers when he's talking to that guy with the giant mole on his face.

"I have nowhere to go, no one to contact, no money and nothing that I'm willing to part with for money. I am literally just here for a place to sleep for the night."

I feel like her stare pierces my soul and judges me, but I breathe a sigh of relief when she gives a short sharp nod and beckons me in.

I look around as she leads me to the back so I can put my name down for a bed. The place is cramped, and smelly, and loud, but it's somewhere to sleep for the night. Almost everyone here is an Asari, there are a couple of Krogan, a few Salarians dotted here and there, and most surprisingly, a small Drell child.

He (at least I think it's a he) is sitting in a corner watching everyone with a blank expression, dark blue, almost black eyes taking in everything around him. He's small enough that I reckon he can't have been more than eight or nine.

"Jinta; the boy hardly ever does anytin' besides ea' and drink during the day. He an' 'is parents have been 'ere for 'bout a year now; they're savin' up for a place, bu' they can barely feed themselves on the money they're earnin'," the Asari explained.

I felt my heart go out to the kid, and before I knew what I was doing, I made my way over towards him. He doesn't register me as I approach, doesn't even look at me as I crouch down next to him so we're face to face.

After a moment his eyes flick towards mine, and we meet for a brief second, but then they turn away and he goes back to daydreaming, or remembering if he's doing that Drell 'perfect recall' thing that they can do.

I couldn't talk to him if I wanted to, but I get the feeling that he doesn't want to speak, so I give him a friendly pat on the shoulder, and walk towards the bed that Kiellan had pointed out for me.

It's nothing but a cot really, a thin metal frame with a single unwashed sheet covering it, but it's better than sleeping on a cold hard floor, and after the day I've had it feels like heaven. Needless to say I'm out like a light.

* * *

I wake to the feeling of a hard foot kicking the bottom of the cot. I jump up and take a defensive stance before my mind registers exactly what had happened yesterday. I take a moment to notice that the one who had kicked my bed was Kiellan, and that she was holding a bowl of a thin blue soup with slightly iridescent swirls in it.

"You okay there girl?" She asks while staring at me with something that might be understanding, might be pity, or could be how Asari look at people oddly, I don't fucking know.

I relax. "Yeah, sorry about that. That for me?" I ask, pointing to the soup. She nods, and I'm glad she's not making a big thing out of my reaction. I'm fine if I wake up naturally, but some bad experiences with an old boyfriend left some scars that will probably never heal.

"Thanks." I take the bowl, lift it up to my face and take a sip. It doesn't really taste like anything if I'm honest, maybe a bit like carrot soup, but it's so bland that I'd just as readily say it had no taste at all.

But food is food. I gulp it all down.

Kiellan whips the bowl out of my hands and heads off to the side of the shelter, where a wall has peeled away and there's a large counter with a variety of Asari behind it cooking the soup and handing it out, along with a few volunteers from the shelter, like Kiellan.

It's jarring to see just how similar poverty looks, no matter where you find it.

With no one to talk to, I feel a little lost. I didn't really have a plan beyond making it to today. The question is, what the fuck do I do?

It's all well and good figuring that I could do some awesome shit if I got my hands on the equipment to build handheld electromagnetic railguns. The problem is that said equipment requires money to buy. I would need a place to live and a lab, both of which cost money. I would need an omnitool, which costs money. Everything comes down to having no money.

Which means I need to figure out how to make money. Firstly, I need to figure out how to make enough money to live, then I need to make enough money to fund very expensive research.

To earn money I need a job. To get a (legal) job I need credentials, an identity, and my degree, even if it's applicable means sweet fuck all without the documentation to prove I have it.

Right, step one, get an omnitool. Once I have an omnitool I can talk to more people. Once I can talk to people, I can inquire about jobs. Once I'm earning some money, I can have a trawl through the extranet to see if there's anything else that this version of humanity are missing out on. I figure if there's anything I know about from my reality that this one seems to lack, I can probably make some money on it.

I wait until breakfast has been served for everyone, and make my way towards Kiellan. I have to wait for a Krogan to finish talking to her first, and I notice something else that's different; humans are smaller.

I have no idea why, I thought maybe everyone I had seen so far was just short, but I'm about the same height as the Krogan in front of me, and I got the impression playing the game that all Krogan are massive to every other race but the Elcor.

My being at the same height as him puts my eyes above his. I can see the slight surprise in them as he turns and sees me once he's finished his conversation with Kiellan. I stand my ground as he walks past, somehow expecting him to bang his shoulder into mine to show his physical superiority (I figure it's just the Krogan thing to do).

What I don't expect is for neither him nor me to budge. He obviously doesn't expect it either.

"Ashig kkragan!" He shouts at me, gaining the attention of dozens of people around us. I barely notice that however, as I'm puzzling in my head why this has occurred. It doesn't make any sense, the only thing that's different is eezo…

That's it. Humans can change rapidly, within generations, just look at the change in the space of a hundred years between the Victorian era and the early 21st century; even in that short time Humans were getting taller, living longer, and simply changing due to the benefits of medicine, food and lifestyle changes.

If the whole of society has had access to eezo for over a hundred and fifty years? With people spending time on Mars, which has lower gravity, using cars and trains and spaceships with dampeners so people didn't experience g-forces, with no actual gravity and only simulated gravity for most people for most of their lives, there must have been an effect.

Over time, Humans have changed. There are probably other factors at work than I can think of right now, but the fact remains that it is entirely too plausible that my 21st century body, which I have kept fit and healthy, is naturally taller, stronger, and possibly even denser, than the average Human of today, simply due to the stresses of a life without the high end technology of the Mass Effect universe.

Since everyone I've seen is shorter than I'd imagined, even the Krogan, it only makes sense that eezo has had a similar effect on every species that has used it for generations.

WHAM!

I fall to the floor and nearly vomit up the soup I ate earlier as the Krogan's fist buries itself into my stomach, the breath being forced out of my body and my stomach telling me to curl up into a ball and cry.

However, I'm made of tougher stuff than that. Ignoring the screaming protest of my abdomen, I push myself to my feet, and before the Krogan's surprise has even registered, I bring my leg up and kick him between the legs as hard as I can.

Everything stops. No one breathes. Then, a small squeak comes out of the Krogan's mouth, and he slides backwards off my foot and onto the floor, clutching between his legs as hot salty tears flow onto the metal floor.

Gratified, I then grab my stomach and fall back to my knees. I take deep breaths to try and stop feeling winded. Once I can breathe normally again, I roll over onto my back and just hold my stomach as the throbbing pain continues. Just because I'm different doesn't mean that Krogans aren't naturally stronger than Humans, and it doesn't mean that my stomach doesn't hurt a LOT and it's probably going to be black and blue for days now.

That thought makes me want to get up and give the Krogan bastard another kick in his ovaries.

I can hear Kiellan laughing herself hoarse behind me while whispers carry through the surrounding crowd, who all begin to break off when it's obvious that neither I nor the Krogan are going to be getting back up anytime soon.

They can regenerate, they can't stop the pain of being kicked in the balls.

I hear steps and chuckling getting closer, telling me that Kiellan is approaching. "Heh, thanks for tha' girl, tha's the bes' thin' I seen in years. Heh heh. Le's get you up, 'ere we go," and she helps to my knees then to my feet, though I have to keep a hand on my stomach. We approach the Krogan, who isn't crying anymore but he's still gasping for breath and clutching between his legs.

"Get up Garosh you fat lump!" She says as she kicks him in the back of the head. He growls at her but it lacks any heat due to the fact that he's lying in a puddle of his own tears. After a moment of glaring at me and Kiellan he grumbles and pushes himself to his feet, though he's still cupping between his legs like I'm still holding my stomach.

"Kua jeggan li ashis kkragan?!" He says forcefully, pointing a stubby finger at my face. I stare at him blankly, having no idea what he said, and he looks like he's about to hit me again before I hold up my arms and point to my wrists.

He looks shocked for a moment (I'm beginning to think that most criminals at least leave people their omnitools, which is kind of weird). He says something to Kiellan.

"He says you shoulda le' 'im know the firs' time, bu' he's sorry for hittin you," Kiellan informs me. I nod graciously; I hadn't expected a Krogan of all people to apologise, but then a game like Mass Effect has to create and constantly enforce stereotypes to maintain the value of different cultures. In truth, people are a lot more complicated than the scripts of a game and the set responses thought up by developers.

"Thank you, and I'm sorry for hitting you… there," I reply, gesturing vaguely towards his crotch. "I just got lost in my own mind wondering why we bumped the way we did," I explain.

"Kua mishunp?" He said 'kua' again.

"Does that mean why?" He nods.

"I honestly don't know," I say to him. And I don't know. I have my suspicions, but don't have any evidence of those suspicions and so cannot know the true reason. Also, it really helps that at least he can understand me, and we have a translator in Kiellan, who is still with us.

He and Kiellan say something to each other. Kiellan looks surprised and looks to me. She looks back to Garosh and says some stuff in rapid Asari. Garosh nods and gestures towards me. After a moment, Kiellan turns towards me.

"Well?" I ask a little smarmily; they had been talking about me while I was right there.

"Garosh works at a factory on the next level down as a loader. It's a large place and there's only him and one other Krogan there to move everything, and they could do with another set of strong hands. He says you're strong enough for the work and is willing to buy you an omnitool if you promise to take the job and pay him back for it."

Well, if the universe wanted to throw such an amazing opportunity in my lap, who was I to disagree? It was one hell of a step down from theoretical physicist, but it was also a hell of a step up from where I was before the offer.

And it was step one in my plan to earn to some real money (which I still wasn't too sure about, I mean I was looking at needing to earn millions of credits, but that was a problem for another day).

"Absolutely yes. When do I start?"

"You can go with him right now."

"Then let's go."

* * *

I had been confused as to how a strap on your wrist was supposed to translate, but it turns out that the omnitool comes with a few little strips that go just behind the ears (at least the human ones, every race has their own type of omnitool apparently). The omnitool acts as a microphone and a speaker, and the strips provide the translation.

I have no idea what make the omnitool is since I couldn't understand Garosh and the teller while they were talking. If only there were a way to solve this…

"Garosh, what make of omnitool is this?"

"It's an Apple iTool."

Well, who'd of thought?

"So, who's in charge of this warehouse, and are you sure they'll take me on?"

He looks at me and narrows his eyes, but seeing that I'm unintimidated by an eye squint, he rolls said eyes and answers my questions.

"The warehouse is owned by some old human called Ciaran Kelham, but the place is run by a Turian called Jeerfan. He told me to keep my eye open for an extra pair of hands, so yes I'm sure he'll take you on. Now shut up."

I have a feeling that I'm not going to get much more out of him, so I turn to the handy new device on my wrist. I can't help but grin as a holographic display appears, sporting Apple's typical iPhone layout, which thankfully makes it easy to navigate. It causes a pang of homesickness, but at the same time a sense of comfort. A lot of things have changed, but at least some things always stay the same.

Anyway, I tap the extranet button (which is a picture of the Milky Way now) and search for something that I've been putting off until now; what year is it? A calendar shows up (the iTool also uses that IniFurtix search engine) to show that the date is the 12th July 2175.

That… is actually a pretty good time to land in. Much earlier and there would have been barely any humans around and a lot of discrimination from Turians, any later and I wouldn't have the time to prepare for the Reapers.

Because I am going to prepare for them, mark my words. The thing is, I'm probably not going to end up with Shepard, I'm not a soldier or anything. I'm not going to end up with Cerberus because they're fucking evil and all that. I could go to Omega and join Aria, but she gets fucked before she gets better and I have a high chance of dying there every day, let alone when the Reapers arrive.

So I don't know what I'm going to do, but I'm going to do something.

I have a trawl through the internet – sorry, extranet – trying to think of something that I can make a lot of money off of because no one thought of it here. However, I'm stopped short as Garosh's dulcet tones break me out of my concentration.

"We're here."

I look up from my omnitool and observe the area. It's kind of stereotypical; apart from the different races and the alien architecture, it's easily distinguishable as the warehouse district.

He walks me up to a large blue door with a logo I don't recognise on it, a trio of white twisted spikes going through some alien animal. Garosh starts talking as we walk through a few corridors to an office.

"This place stores dextro-amino food that comes in from Turian planets and organises it to be shipped out over the citadel. It requires manual labour because only Krogan and YMIR Mechs are strong enough to lift the crates and move them around stably, and YMIRs cost so much to run that the place would almost be losing money. The downside is that Krogan, and you, are levo-amino based, so if there's an accident you gotta be real careful."

I nod, it makes sense. Those YMIRs were rare in the games (which was a shame because I loved making them blow up), and it makes sense why now.

We enter the office and a Turian with all white face paint looks up. It's honestly impossible to see the difference between Turians without their face paint in the game, and this is the only Turian I've seen in real life, so I've got no one to compare him to.

"Ah, Garosh. And this must be the woman you messaged me about. Jeerfan Shikor, at your service," he says with a small bow. I can't help but immediately like him, he's smooth and got a Casanova air about him.

"Anastasia Volkov, at yours," I reply with a small curtsey and a laugh, causing him to laugh as well.

"You know he does this with every female he meets. Even the Elcor." Jeerfan turns and glares at him, but doesn't refute the statement, causing me to laugh. After a moment he turns back to me.

"So, Garosh says you're strong enough to move the merchandise despite being human. Help Garosh out today, and if he says you did ok then you got a job. Deal?" He holds out a taloned hand, which I shake. He squeezes, visibly straining his arm, no doubt to test if I'm actually as strong as Garosh says.

In reply I squeeze back, and he quickly lets go, to Garosh's rumbling chuckle and deadpan "I told you so."

"Alright alright, off with you, no one's making money standing around doing nothing. Anastasia, come back at the end of the day and if Garosh says you did ok then I'll give you today's pay cash in hand."

"Thanks," I reply as we walk out of the door into the main warehouse. It's as big as you'd expect, with three levels of walkways with wide sets of stairs leading between them, and each step large enough for a full movement. All in all in looks like a pretty good work environment.

"Ok, just follow me for today and help with my workload."

* * *

"So, how was your day?"

"Uuuugggghhhhhh."

"It can't have been that bad."

"I can't feel my elbows."

"Stop whining."

"But it makes me feeeeeel betteeeerrrrrr."

"How old are you again?"

"22, and what?"

"You're acting like a child."

"And here I thought I was acting like a potato."

Today's work was hard! Just because I'm as strong as Garosh and keep myself fit and healthy does not mean that I have that Krogan's freakish endurance. Jeerfan said I'd get used to it, but I'm not sure I will.

And now Kiellan is making fun of me.

Thanks to the fact that I have a translator now, Kiellan is speaking Asari and it's being translated into proper English.

"Well, how was the pay?" She asks. I briefly wonder about the collection of people that I've already somewhat befriended, but figure that that's just life. It'd be impossible to go through life without talking to people and liking some of them.

"960 credits, but that was cash in hand, so to speak. After today I'll actually have a job and have to pay income tax, which is 20% for my tax bracket," (and isn't it convenient that taxes and the like work just like back home). "So from now on that's 768 credits a day based on an eight hour day. That gives me a rough salary of 199,680 credits a year after tax." (Which as far as I can figure is the equivalent of about £22,000 a year).

"How… did you just figure that out in your head here and now?" Kiellan asks a little shakily.

I look at her with confusion; surely, being an Asari, once you've met someone over the age of 300 even the clever humans must seem slow. "Yeah, why?"

"Well, not many people can do mental arithmetic like that. It was surprising, is all," she explains. "Anyway, you seem all recovered, do you mind helping me hand out dinner?"

"Uuuuugggggghhhhhhhhh!"

* * *

Money is money, but after a week of the monotony that is picking up crates and putting them down elsewhere (I am unfortunately already getting used to it, damn it Jeerfan), I have decided that I need music. Music can be bought online or at a store. Since I just want it for a handheld device, I decide to buy it digitally.

Being an Apple iTool, the iTunes store is still up and running. I dedicate my evening to building a playlist. I decide, first things first, to listen to the top ten songs of each of the genres I like. And I discover something.

Everything sounds almost exactly the same. I mean they're different songs, but it still feels like there's no variety, it all sounds like the music you always heard in the game at Afterlife or Flux.

A quick extranet search of the greatest musical productions in history is surprisingly short for a galactic community, and every great work of art mentioned on all of the sites I visit are classical pieces of some sort.

With some trepidation, I begin researching, both online and on the iTunes store, my favourite music from before I arrived in this universe.

And none of it is there. No Linkin Park, Jimi Hendrix, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Evanesence, Calvin Harris, Hardwell, twenty one pilots, Wham!, David Guetta, Justin Timberlake, Arctic Monkeys, The Heavy, Black Sabbath and so on and so forth. According to what I'm seeing, none of this music exists here. Absolutely none. It's horrifying.

However, before genuine panic can grip me, my thoughts turn in another direction. This could be a golden opportunity. If I could recreate even a fraction of the amazing music of my home universe, that could be my answer on how to make a shit load of money.

It would be difficult. I would need a program that would allow me to recreate the music, and I would have to learn a lot about composing music; something which I suspect might have to be self-taught considering the underwhelming musical talents of this universe.

Easy or not, it's the start of a plan. I need to earn massive amounts of money. To do that I need to recreate the music I love. To do that I need to learn a lot about music. To do that I need a music creation program. To get that I need a programmer. To get that I need money. To get enough money I need to save like you wouldn't believe, or take another job and still save the best I can.

So, the next step is to get another job, even if it's only a weekend one. I need something that's not physically draining as well, or I'll drop dead within a month, or more likely a week.

I look around the shelter. There's just as many people as there were before, though I'm able to pick out the familiar faces. I look over at Jinta, who I still haven't actually said a word to. He's sitting with his parents, and it's easy to see that he's got his mother's eyes but his father's looks.

Kilat and Alrova, Jinta's father and mother respectively, both have jobs that pay relatively well, everyone knows that, but it occurs to me that no one I've spoken to knows what exactly their jobs are.

And after a year of apparently saving the best they can, they still have barely any money, and feeding a child can't be that much of a drain. That leaves a few options.

The first is that they're lying about how much they're earning. It's not likely as it doesn't make sense, but it's still possible.

The second is that they're lying about not having much, leading me to believe that they're saving for something secret, or giving their money to someone.

The third is that they're being extorted by someone.

Either way, maybe I can help with a little financial advice, and maybe that will lead towards another job.

One can only hope.

* * *

 _Three weeks later_

Something's happened to Kilat. No one knows what, but Alrova came back alone this morning, crying her eyes out and refusing to talk to anyone.

I make my way over. I have spoken to Kilat and Alrova a few times, and gotten on well with them, though Jinta has yet to speak to anyone.

Speak of the devil. Before I can reach the crowd around Alrova, I feel a light tap on my leg, and look down to see a small Drell. Without a word Jinta grabs my hand and pulls me out of the shelter. I see Kiellan watching and getting up to follow, but I put my hand up and tell her to stay put.

We just go round the corner into one of the many alleys that populate the Citadel. I kneel down so that Jinta and I are face to face, and wait for him to do something.

I imagine that he's come to me because I'm the only one I know that hasn't tried to get him to speak before he's ready, merely asking him yes or no questions when I do talk to him, so he can just nod and not speak.

After a few silent moments, he speaks the first words I've heard from him. "The bad men have daddy," he says, voice quiet and not yet possessing the deep resonant voice that adult male Drell are known for. "Mummy and daddy work for Lojiin, he makes them pay for stuff. Mummy bought me some new clothes, and they couldn't make the next payment… I want my daddy back."

He wraps his arms around my neck and hugs me as hard as he can, fat tears rolling down his face and soaking my shoulder. I let him get it all out, but inside my mind is whirring.

Jinta obviously thinks I can do something about this, but what I don't know. I'm not a soldier or even a mercenary, I have no weapons or shielding or armour or engineering tools or biotics. I can't afford any of those things either.

But what I am is clever. And I have a friend in Garosh and Kiellan, who would be likely to help me if I could come up with a good plan.

Why am I even thinking of doing this? What am I even thinking of doing? Rescuing Kilat? Taking out this Lojiin? Getting into a firefight or something?

Don't get me wrong, I plan on getting some training, from a professional, when I can pay for it, and do it safely, not in a live firefight!

But if I can think of something, and I can do something, don't I have a moral responsibility to do it?

"Daddy!" Jinta unwraps himself and runs behind me out into the street and straight into the legs of a taller Drell.

Kilat has obviously been roughed up, and he's holding his left arm gingerly, but he's back and hugging Jinta and they're making their way back into the shelter. I can't help but feel it's all somewhat anti-climactic, but it suddenly occurs to me that I'm basing too much of my expectations on the game again.

In the games, the only point of view you have is that of a soldier, who deals with the big bad evil guys, the mega corporations, the Council, and everyone of that ilk. This Lojiin is a small time thug extorting some money out of poor people, of course it isn't going to be as bad as you would expect from the game!

Kilat still looks troubled, and it's obvious that if he and Alrova don't make up the payment then the next person to get roughed up is going to be Alrova or Jinta. However, Lojiin is still going to want their money, so no matter what he'll more than likely leave them able to work and make money for him.

It's cruel I know, but as I was thinking earlier, what can I do about it?

Actually…

What can I do about it yet?

Because if my plans go through, then I'll have the money, and the power, to stop things like this. Eight years until the start of the first Mass Effect, making that ten years until the Reapers arrive; a lot can happen in that time, and I'm not going to just sit and wait for them to arrive.

In the mean time I can become a force for good. Maybe I'm here for a reason, or maybe it's just luck, but the fact of the matter is I'm an anomaly in this universe, and that means I can be a force for change.

I may not be able to help Jinta and Kilat and Alrova the way I want to yet. I may not be able to make tons of money through music yet. I may not be able to develop incredibly powerful electromagnetic based shielding and weaponry yet. But I will.

Until then, let's see if I can crunch some numbers and help out a poor Drell family with their budget.


	2. Chapter 2

Lightning Blades

Disclaimer: I don't own any Mass Effect copyrights. N.B. I noticed in the first chapter that Fanfic doesn't like superscript (or subscript for that matter). When I explained the strength of electromagnetic attraction it was supposed to say A x 10 to the power of 39, not A x 1039. I have now corrected that. And before you say anything, when it gets to it I promise it won't be OP bullshit.

* * *

I was nowhere near as physically fit as I thought I was. After two solid months of working for Jeerfan and buying as little food as possible while still contributing to the shelter so I can save up, I have toned up considerably.

My endurance has gone through the roof too, and I can keep up with Garosh much easier now. I want to curse Jeerfan for being right, but being this fit will almost definitely help one day in the future.

I have also been helping Kilat and Alrova with their finances so that they can make their payments to Lojiin, a Batarian thug that they work for, and still save money for a place to live or more luxuries for Jinta.

Because of the help I've been giving the Drell, Garosh told Jeerfan that I was good with numbers, resulting in Jeerfan giving me a pay rise for splitting my time between moving crates and helping him with his accounting.

The extra money has gone towards getting myself a few things; namely a shield and a gun. I didn't know, but almost no one this low down on the wards walks around without at least those two things, according to Garosh.

I didn't even look at what make and model they were, I just made sure they worked.

My next step is to start looking for someone that can build my music creation program for me. There are music creation programs downloadable from the extranet, but they are so limited and unfriendly I didn't even bother trying to use them lest my enthusiasm be curbed.

I am currently in that café I first walked into. Despite the fact that I know the computers are free to use now, I still make sure to buy a coffee and/or a sweet roll or two whenever I plan to use the computer for more than five minutes. It's gotten to the point where the woman working behind the counter, Luiti as I learned, keeps a table free for me in the evenings.

I scroll down a list of companies that design software, but with the kinds of prices that they are advertising, I think that they're more geared towards companies and the like.

I change my search so that I'm looking for personal software designers, and hit upon a couple who look like they could be my team.

A Salarian and a Quarian (naturally; I feel like the universe hasn't enforced clichés enough yet) duo with reasonable prices and a well-designed page layout. That alone is enough to give them a call at least.

I check the time. I woke up early this morning so that I had a bit of time to use the computers, but I need to leave now if I'm going to escape getting an earful from Garosh (anyone would think he ran the place and not Jeerfan considering how much more laid back the Turian is).

With that in mind, I jog down a level and manage to get to the warehouse just as Garosh is about to close the door, not even breathing hard as I slip inside just as the door clicks shut. Garosh gives me an annoyed glare, but I just give him my best jaunty smile and wave, causing him to huff in annoyance.

Jeerfan gives us a wave from the office as we head towards the loading area; a new shipment came in last night and Jeerfan needs it sorted and ready to move out ASAP.

The food comes in bound stacks that we need to crate up and weigh, and then move the crates into the shipping area. This is normally the other Krogan's job, but Jeerfan needs all hands on deck with this one, so we're helping him for the day.

The other Krogan, whose name I don't even know, is constantly scowling at us and watching us as we weigh the merchandise. I glare back at him, as does Garosh, but nobody moves to do anything about it.

I finish a crate and carry it to the floor scales designed for the purpose. Every crate I've weighed so far has weighed 22.5kg, give or take half a kilo.

This one weighs 27.5kg, which means one of two things; the scales are broken, or this isn't Turian food.

And from the glare the other Krogan is giving me, I think I know which one it is.

Before I can do or say anything about it, I'm blinded by light and feel my ears ringing. Something touches my arm.

Darkness.

* * *

I glare at the other Krogan, whose name turned out to be Huck, as he's led away by C-Sec officers into the back of a floating van, while my arm is held in a sling; luckily only a few muscles in my shoulder have been pulled, I'm taking the damn thing off the moment I'm not within sight of the Doctor.

It turns out that Ciaran Kelham is the father of Elias Kelham, and owned several warehouses throughout the Citadel which he used to smuggle drugs into said Citadel. C-Sec hit every warehouse simultaneously and arrested Ciaran at the same time. They had chucked a flashbang into the warehouse.

The reason I had been knocked out is because Huck had decided to use me as a weapon, and grabbed my arm and thrown me at the officers that had poured into the building while he attempted to escape. This apparently resulted in my head butting a Turian in the face – his incredibly hard, metallic, exo-skeleton covered face.

Lucky for me C-Sec had managed to pinpoint all of Kelham's operations and knew that me, Garosh and Jeerfan were innocent and knew nothing about the operation. We were also lucky that our company, Dex Ship, bought the warehouse so that we wouldn't be out of a job. A couple of the other warehouses weren't so lucky and had to be temporarily shut down while they were out of circulation.

"I can't believe that crafty bastard managed to slip this under my nose for the last six months," Jeerfan says as he walks up next to me, shaking his head sadly.

"Don't beat yourself up, he fooled me too. He's lucky C-Sec got him first or I would have killed him," Garosh says nonchalantly. A nearby C-Sec officer, an Asari that looks even younger than me, looks him up and down considering he just threatened to kill someone.

Now, in my time here, there is something that I've learned; you do not fuck with a Krogan. I'm a bit of an exception, since I can take it, plus my appearance separates me from other humans more than I'd expected (odd looks in shops, people staring, moving to the other side of the path to avoid me), but no one else does.

If a Krogan does something illegal, let the 'big guns' take care of it; i.e. the C-Sec trained to deal with it that have big guns. If a Krogan says something like 'move or I'll kill you,' you just move and don't invite the trouble.

So, imagine my surprise when this little slip of an Asari walks up to Garosh, visibly shaking, and says, "excuse me sir, but please refrain making violent comments like that."

I know it's bad, but I genuinely almost burst out laughing; she is either the bravest or stupidest girl I have ever met. Garosh looks at me with amusement for half a second before refocusing on the girl.

"And what if I don't?" He asks her dangerously, pushing off from the crate he was leaning against and stepping closer to her, showing how much bigger and stronger he is. The Asari starts shaking a little more.

"T-then I'm g-oing to have t-t-to g-give you a w-warning," she says, stuttering but, impressively, not moving back or cowering. Garosh stares her dead in the eye for a moment.

And then another moment.

And another.

…

"Come on Garosh, she's had enough," I say as I can see the Asari is on the verge of crying from fear, though she still hasn't moved back even an inch. Garosh leaves it another second and then grins at the girl and claps her on the shoulder, nearly sending her to her knees.

"Heh, I like you girl, what's your name?" He asks as he leans back against the crate, causing the girl to visibly relax and let out the breath she had been holding.

"It's, um, Astoria sir," she says in confusion. I can't help but shake my head and look at Jeerfan.

"She can't be more than what? 17? I wonder what she's doing with C-Sec?" I say to him. She obviously hears me though, and turns around and looks at me angrily the way only a teenager can (ok, I'm only 23, but it still counts.)

"Hey! I'm 18 thank you very much," she huffs. I chuckle at her, causing her to glare at me, which makes Jeerfan and Garosh chuckle too, and she backs away as she glares at all three of us simultaneously.

A moment later she turns and starts talking to a Salarian that might be her superior, but she glances back every now and then to glare at us some more.

"Well, I don't think we're going to get much else done today, you two can head back to the shelter if you like, I'll make sure we get paid leave for it."

"Alright, thanks Jeerfan, we'll see you tomorrow," I say as Garosh and I head back. He gives us a wave and heads back to the office to lock up.

We get about halfway there when Garosh stops and turns to me. "Drinks?"

I look at my omnitool. "It is literally one in the afternoon."

"So?"

"… let's go."

* * *

Don't get into a drinking game with a Krogan, it results in waking up next to a vomit filled toilet wondering where your left sock went – not the shoe, just the sock – while the Krogan that hustled you laughs like a bullhorn in your ear.

"I hate you."

"I love you too."

"I am going to beat you to within an inch of your life for inflicting this pain on me."

"Which one of me? I'm sure you can see at least three right now."

He's right.

"… I hate you."

* * *

I sit in the café – which is called June's Café – nervously tapping a cup of proper English tea (Luiti let me behind the counter once so I could show her how I liked it, and she gets it right every time).

I had finally contacted the pair of programmers that I planned on scoping out a couple of days ago. I had spent a week after the Huck fiasco contacting small time programmers just in case I hit on someone closer to home and a bit cheaper, but there was a reason they were all so cheap – they were all shit.

Due to the traffic that the Citadel sees, you get all sorts constantly trying to set up shop at the hub of civilisation – naturally, most of these people are either trying to make a quick buck or have a vastly overinflated opinion of their skills.

Honestly, I could have done better than some of them, and I don't even know the language they were all writing in (even the humans, C+ and the like fell out of use years ago).

So I dropped the pair, Farrah'Zan vas Famas and Hudo Heng, the Quarian woman and Salarian male respectively, a message wondering if they were up for a job on the Citadel.

Turns out they were on their way to the Citadel anyway since they'd had a client that didn't want their product electronically but physically, so that was a stroke of luck for me.

Now, I said before that I had no experience with music creation, which is true, however I have played around with a couple of programs, so I do know what I want.

"Excuse me, we're looking for an Anastasia Volkov?" A voice that sounds a lot like mine going through a modulator asks Luiti. Yeah, I forgot to mention that all Quarians do genuinely have Russian accents. This is because they don't use their omnitools to translate but headgear built directly into their suits. Their programming is slightly different and allows more of their native language to come through, hence the accent, and since the speaker shares space with their respirators, the voice comes out sounding slightly modulated.

Also, with so few Quarians left, and the close quarters in which they live, most of their accents have melded into the one, with very little variation across the Liveships, hence why they all sound similar to Russian.

Luiti points towards me, and I raise a hand in greeting as they make their way over. I stand up as they reach my table and offer my hand – humans brought handshaking to the galactic community by the way, it took off since it's the most convenient standardised form of introduction that has no formality boundaries to date.

"Anastasia Volkov?" Asks Farrah'Zan, to which I nod. "Good, I am Farrah'Zan vas Famas and this is my associate Hudo Heng," she says gesturing to the Salarian.

"Nice to meet you," I say as I also shake Hudo's hand. He just nods, drawing a look of surprise from me since Salarians are usually hyper-verbal.

"Hudo had a run in with a Batarian six years ago, he survived but he'll never be able to speak again. Thankfully, he can use his omni-tool to speak if he wishes and he's a damn good programmer," Farrah informs me.

"Oh, well I'm glad you seem to be doing ok," I say to Hudo, who smiles and nods in thanks.

"So, we're not often on the Citadel and we should get back to our office as soon as possible, what do you want?" Farrah asks without preamble. I can appreciate wanting to get down to the brass tacks.

"In short, I want a music mixing and creation program," I explain, or, well, summarise.

"Those are, how do you humans say? A dime a dozen? Why come to us? What do the usual programs not allow you to do?"

I bring up a picture of their web page on my omnitool. "You have good prices, but more importantly you have a well designed page layout, which is somewhat rare from what I've seen. Why a custom program? Because the 'usual' ones aren't worth shit, you can't even change the shape of the sound wavelength with 99% of them."

"That… is true. What sort of layout and utilities would you want then?" I message some designs I had drawn up the night before, basically looking the same as FL Studio, and outlining all of the functions I can remember.

We spend around three hours going over my ideas and refining things that I had wanted but hadn't thought out very well. We stop when I realise that my third cup of tea has gone cold and my arse has gone numb.

"So, do you think there's enough there for you to get started at least?" I ask as we leave June's.

"Oh definitely, and I must admit it is an interesting project," Farrah replies as we shake hands again.

"So, how much do you think this will set me back?" I ask the big question. I've saved up quite a few credits, over ten thousand actually. Not having to pay for heating or water or extranet access (since basic extranet speeds are free) or home insurance etc. is quite handy.

But I'm still not sure that it'll be enough.

"Hmmm," Farrah says as she types a few things into her omnitool. "Well, overall I think the project will take maybe three months, and I will say it will cost between twenty five and thirty thousand credits overall, depending on if we need to make changes near the end after showing it to you. We'll take a deposit of two and a half thousand credits now, and you pay the rest on delivery, how does that sound?"

I do some calculations in my head quickly, I can save around 10,000 credits a month, three more months' worth of income at my current rate of expenditure should just about cover it. "I can do that."

I pay her the deposit and we go our separate ways, them back to their ship, me back to the shelter.

* * *

Jeerfan's finally hired someone to take over Huck's job. It took a little while this time since the Turian screened every applicant thoroughly so we didn't get another drug mule working here.

The new worker isn't a Krogan either. Its times like this you can see the effects of the Genophage on the species. There just aren't that many of them. It's somewhat subtle, but when you look around, the Krogan generally just aren't there.

Sure, you might see a bodyguard, or a dock worker, or a bounty hunter, but nowhere else do you tend to see Krogan working. I have yet to see a Krogan cashier, or ambassador, or author, or electrician or anything else of that nature.

While the Krogan aren't all as brash and violent as the game portrays, the places you tend to see Krogan in the game are accurate; like I said, there just aren't enough of them to do much else than what their superior physical stature affords them.

Anyway, the new worker is an Asari named Taryn. Honestly? She's buff. I mean she makes me look like a damn twig, and sometimes it looks like her muscles have muscles.

She also smokes Human cigarettes, a lot, and has been smoking them since Humans joined the galactic community, so she sounds more like Matriarch Aethyta than any other Asari I've met (maybe Aethyta smokes too?).

Still, she's alright, a bit distant, less talkative than Garosh, though she opens up around Jeerfan; it's hard not to talk to the Turian, he's a motor mouth if ever I saw one. She, quite interestingly, uses her biotics in tandem with her obvious strength to move stuff around.

According to Jeerfan her biotics are well below average in strength for an Asari, but she has well above average biotic endurance. Either way she gets the job done and she's not a criminal.

Jeerfan hired her just in time too, the place was nearly in the red before we got the help.

* * *

I grimace at the price tag attached to a piece of clothing at an antique store. I've been washing my current clothes daily, but it's a drain and I need more than my current outfit and the overalls I wear for work.

The antique store is fifteen levels up, which is the closest I've ever been to the Presidium. It looks just like it does in the game, only more real, obviously. It's an odd sensation, seeing where Sovereign nearly brings about the end of spacefaring life in the galaxy.

I look around the antique store, but what I'm looking at is the only old style human clothing available. The modern style of clothing is uncomfortable, and not generally made in my size, I'd have to special order a few things which is just aggravating.

So I looked up somewhere that sold Human clothing from over a century ago, and this is the only place on my arm of the Citadel that showed up. Which makes sense, I mean when's the last time you saw someone wearing an outfit from the Victorian era in 2016?

Hopefully when I'm making some more money I can get a tailor to make stuff I'm more familiar with.

I pick out some jeans, seeing as denim is long lasting and pretty much all that's available, there's not much in the way of female tops, so I pick out some male ones and make a mental note to try and either shrink them in the wash or polish off some non-existent sewing skills.

Still, they'll do for now.

I've been living at the shelter for a couple of months now, so I've got a bed next to a small chest of drawers. Most of the beds in the place are for the people who are only around for a few days. There's a large turnover of people since almost all of those that show up have someone to fall back on and only need somewhere to sleep for a few days.

I'm now part of the clientele that actually lives there. Hurray.

Hence why I'm now able to actually get some clothes; I have somewhere to put them.

I pile the clothes on the counter. I think the Volus behind said counter is looking at me suspiciously, but you can never really tell with them. They have to wear those stupid looking environmental suits meaning you can't see their faces, not that seeing their faces would help seeing as they're all crafty little buggers as it is. It's really no wonder they tend to outstrip the other races when it comes to understanding finances.

Speaking of money, I wonder if those £20 notes I've got will be worth anything? No harm in asking.

"That comes to *click-breath* one thousand two hundred and eight *click-breath* credits Earth-Clan," the male Volus says. Slowly. Interspersed with clicks, pauses and breaths. I hate talking to Volus, honestly, it's so damn slow.

"How much could I get for these?" I slap the notes down on the counter. He makes an interested hum.

"For the *click-breath* both of them? *click-breath* Two hundred credits."

"You fucking what? That's less than these things were worth when they were still legal tender. I'll take five hundred. Each." If my maths is right (which it is) 100 credits is equal to about £11 from 2016, so he was literally offering to pay me £11 for a £20 note.

Yeah, that's not going to happen.

"That is just *click-breath* too much. *click-breath* I can go up to *click-breath* two hundred and fifty each."

"That's a complete rip off, I'll go down to four hundred and fifty each."

"I'm afraid I can't *click-breath* go higher than *click-breath* three hundred."

"Tell you what, despite the fact that I'm still being ripped off, I'll take seven hundred and fifty for the both of them." That's about £40 per note. I honestly have no idea how much these things are actually worth, and I'm probably being majorly scammed, but it's money off, and I'm saving up so I can actually get that program from Farrah'Zan and Hudo.

"We have a *click-breath* deal Earth-Clan. Your purchase *click-breath* now comes to *click-breath* four hundred and fifty eight credits."

I gladly pay the reduced amount and get the hell out of there; not only did he try and swindle me, but Volus are _so annoying to talk to!_

* * *

I can't help but smile as I take the long walk back to the shelter.

It's funny that my appearance is getting more impressive reactions this close to the Presidium; the wards get richer the closer you are. I mean, I know I'm pretty damn attractive, and I like my piercings and my tattoo and how I dress, it's just not the done thing anymore.

You'll be hard pressed to find anyone with a similar look to mine (the only person I can think of is Jack, and isn't that a worrying thought?) and that's because my 'rebel' look isn't the rebel look anymore.

Rebels and delinquents in this time dress like Asari or Drell and style themselves on aliens; there's still a lot of anti-alien sentiment among Humans, which is understandable considering First Contact, but it means that my persona, my style, doesn't really represent anything anymore.

Hence why it's quite jarring for others to see. A lot got left behind when Humans expanded to the stars, so instead of a blast from the past I just seem odd to people.

But it's mostly funny. I've even had a few Turians ask if I'm a new species. I was offended at first, but found it funny after a few drinks; though Jeerfan teases me about it every now and then.

Arsehole.

As I walk into the shelter and put my new clothes away, I can't help but feel like this is a step in the right direction.

Time for the next one.

* * *

I'm lying on my bed in the shelter, listening to everyone else breathing deeply as they sleep or talking quietly so as not to disturb anyone.

It's been nearly two months since I made that deal with Farrah'Zan, we've spoken every now and then to make sure we're both still on the same page. I can't wait to get my plans up and running.

Because the monotony is giving me time to think. Ever since I showed up here, it's been a struggle to get myself into a position where I'm not going to starve to death, and to actually get a plan together because I know what the fuck is coming.

I didn't have time to think about everything I left behind.

My father died when I was thirteen. Jake Volkov was born in a small river village on the other side of the Ural Mountains called Lugovskoy. He moved to England when he was 23 to earn more money, which the UK was the best destination for seeing as he was a boat builder.

He met my mother there, Maria Volkov née Carter, and they married two years later. They moved back to Russia for a little while, and then back to England when I was eight; they wanted to raise my brother, Marcus, in England.

I had always been clever, so when my parents lavished more attention on my brother I lashed out, and that continued into my teenage years.

We made up properly when my father died; it had been sudden, a heart attack while he was driving. He came off the road and hit a lamp post at 40 mph, fracturing his skull and bruising his spinal column. If he hadn't crashed he might have lived, but that coupled with the stress of the heart attack killed him in three days.

After he was gone, my mother lost something. She was still a great mum, but I ended up with some stupid friends and doing stupid things, drugs and drink mostly, my tattoo (though I like it was still stupid and impulsive). She just didn't have the will to reign me in.

Despite all that we looked after my brother, and I went to university and got my degree and stopped the drugs and the drink. It was hard, I had to go to AA meetings and had counselling and that. That's probably the only reason I'm not completely fucked up right now.

Marcus was fifteen before I ended up here; he was studying for his GCSEs, he wasn't quite as clever as I was, but he was into a lot of sports and had some good friends.

I hope they're doing alright without me. I don't know how my getting here has worked, maybe I fell through some random dimensional portal that didn't kill me, or maybe I died, who knows.

Either way, I'm never going to see them again. And that hurts.

It's a delayed reaction, I've been putting it off for long enough. I start crying, fat tears rolling down my cheeks. The counsellors always managed to get me crying, whether I was angry or sad or happy; it's amazing how much better you can feel after a good cry.

I don't expect Garosh, of all people, to plop himself down next to me and wrap a large scaly arm around my shoulder. He doesn't say anything, just holds me as I cry myself out.

At first it's surprising, but the fact is Krogan aren't all violence loving emotionless monsters. They have emotions, they have their ups and downs as any sentient being does, and Garosh is over three hundred years old; you can't live that long and not learn how to recognise and deal with shit.

I wonder what he thinks I'm crying about. The fact is from his perspective, I'm just this child that wandered into the shelter one day, had no compulsions about getting into a scrap with a Krogan, jumped at the first job offered to me, and has now been living at said shelter for over two months without any form of contact from anyone.

No family, friends, acquaintances, fellow employees, _nobody_ has come asking after me.

He holds me until the tears stop and I fall asleep.

* * *

I've made good friends with Kilat and Alrova since I started helping them with their finances. The both of them are survivors, and they would do anything for Jinta.

A quietly despondent sigh comes from the small figure standing next to me while Kilat and Alrova argue a landlord down on his pricing for the apartment we're currently standing in.

Thanks to my help they've managed to put aside enough money to start renting a small two bedroom flat; the shelter is fine for most people but it's nowhere to raise a kid, and they know that.

I pat Jinta on the head, somewhat sharing his feelings. I know that the Drells getting an actual home to live in is a good thing, but looking around small apartments and letting Kilat and Alrova do all the haggling is boring as fuck.

It didn't start off like that, but after the first estate agent tried to swindle them and I called him a few choice words and threatened to do a few anatomically impossible things to him, well, I've been stuck on timeout with Jinta.

"Ok then." I look up to see the two parents walking over. Alrova sweeps Jinta up into her arms with a smile.

"This is the one then?" I ask. They nod, and Jinta and I both release sighs of relief at the same time.

"Oh come on, it wasn't that bad was it?" Kilat asks with a toothy grin.

I should reiterate, it was Alrova that banned me from negotiations – Kilat thought it was hilarious and got a smack to the back of the head for egging me on.

"Nope." He looks at me oddly. "It was worse." He rolls his eyes. "So, what's the damage?"

"We managed to get the landlord to agree to three thousand credits a month, which is by the far the best deal I think we're going find, so we went for it," Alrova informs me.

That's around £330 a month, which really isn't bad for a place that has water, electricity and heating included in the bill. It is bloody small, but in the end it's a place to live that isn't a damn homeless shelter.

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with the shelter, but it's essentially the same as living in a hostel, which no one really wants to do. It's actually quite stressful not having a private place that you can call home.

The problem for me is that I'm literally saving every damn credit so I can pay for this damn program. If I wasn't then I could afford a place like this, maybe something a bit better, however I think even when I stop paying for it I won't get a place to live.

The thing is, if I set up somewhere, it's going to be hard to get out and set up somewhere else. I need to earn the money and get the space and equipment I need to protect myself sooner rather than later, and moving out of the shelter the moment that I can will… _inconvenience_ that goal.

Only a few more weeks to go before the program is finished and I can get started on my master plan.

* * *

Having spent all day walking around looking for the right apartment, and then going with the family again to get a few essential utilities and bits of furniture, I'm incredibly grateful when the Drells let me crash on their new couch rather than walk back to the shelter.

It's not far, but I'm knackered – somehow helping them all day is more tiring than my job, which requires spending all day moving heavy crates around and dealing with Jeerfan. I close my eyes and get comfortable.

It feels like only moments have passed since I fell asleep, and I wonder what woke me up. I'm somewhat of a light sleeper, but it's odd for me to wake up and not know immediately what woke me up.

The apartment is pitch black, so I strain my ears, trying to detect anything out of the ordinary.

I hear a soft footfall that immediately puts me on alert, and it takes me a moment to figure out why; despite how quiet it was, the foot belongs to someone a lot heavier than either Kilat or Alrova.

Another footstep informs me that the person to which they belong has just come out of Jinta's new room. The path between the bedrooms and the door out of the apartment passes by the back of the couch.

Moving so slowly it feels like I'm not moving at all, I pull back the cover and quietly pull my legs up underneath me, ready to spring off of the couch and into the invader at a moment's notice.

Whoever it is hasn't heard me, and apparently hasn't seen me in the dark. Seconds pass.

The moment I hear one of the steps land just in front of me, I pounce. My shoulder collides with the person's arm. The person grunts, a low rumbling thing that immediately tells me that this is a male Batarian.

He drops something heavy. As we fall together, the Batarian unable to remain upright with my full weight propelled at him, it occurs to me that perhaps Lojiin is wondering where Kilat and Alrova got the money to afford an apartment.

His head collides with the wall with a surprisingly loud bang, and we hit the floor with his knee in my stomach, causing all of my breath to rush out and leave me winded.

A moment later Jinta shouts in surprise as he wakes upon hitting the ground.

Within moments, which both me and the Batarian spend groaning on the floor, Kilat and Alrova have woken up, shot out of bed and turned the lights on.

I get a good look at the prospective kidnapper; he's a slightly darker colour than most Batarians, looking more like than dirt than anything. He's also missing an eye, a thick rope of scar tissue crossing his top left one. A trail of red leads from the side of his head to a small puddle on the floor.

Luckily my breath recovers before his head does, and before he can get up and hurt someone I stand and kick him in the head hard enough to knock him out for at least a few hours.

"So…" I gasp out, still trying to get my breath back fully, "who the fuck is that?"

Alrova picks Jinta up and hugs him, and then two of them sit on the couch that I vacated.

"Let's tie him up first," Kilat suggests. We drag the Batarian into the kitchen, and Kilat pulls out some duct tape and ties his hands and feet together. "This," he says while motioning to the prisoner laying on the floor, "is one of Lojiin's men, goes by Herat. One of the nastier members of his crew, he's the one that fucked me up a couple of months ago," Kilat says with barely suppressed hate.

Kilat gives Herat a swift, vicious kick in the stomach, though the unconscious Batarian doesn't react.

"So what are we going to do with him?" I ask Kilat. Well, there are several things we could do with him, but our options are somewhat limited. Plus, this nasty sounding motherfucker was attempting to kidnap Jinta, so no matter what I'm not going to pull any punches.

But damn it this is exactly the kind of situation I wanted to avoid. The fact is, I knew that somewhere down the line something would go to shit. This galaxy is really fucking dangerous, hence why pretty much everyone carries a gun unless they're rich enough to hire bodyguards when they go anywhere other than the Presidium.

So I knew that one day I would become involved in something dangerous. However, I was hoping that day would be quite some time down the line, you know, after I managed to try and implement my ideas and actually get some professional training.

But no! Lojiin and his gang have royally fucked up that plan. No matter what happens now, the fact is I attacked one of his men on a job that he'd been sent on. Meaning that this Lojiin likely wants to get even with me for messing up his plan.

Arseholes are arseholes, no matter what species they are.

So either way I can expect a reaction from this guy, both against me and against Kilat and his family. Obviously, they're going to have to be protected.

Kilat has been silent while I've been thinking. He hasn't responded to my question. "How big is Lojiin's crew? And do you know what he's liable to do once he finds out that we've got his man?"

Kilat thinks for a moment. "They're not big, maybe a dozen of them, but they are dangerous. The only reason Lojiin isn't a bigger target on C-Sec's radar is because he's content to settle with 'small time' crime, extorting poor families, roughing up people with debts to loan sharks, mugging those stupid enough to wander into his territory."

If a dozen Batarians can carve out a bit of territory for themselves on the Citadel of all places, then they're definitely not your run of the mill grunts.

And Lojiin is smart, not lazy. The crimes that get on C-Sec's radar are the big ones, serial murder, drug trafficking, terrorism and the like. So what he and his gang do is bad enough to keep people scared, but not enough to catch C-Sec's attention without it being explicitly brought to them…

Hmmm.

"And what's he liable to do once he knows what's happened?"

Kilat shudders a little. "At best? We'll all spends a few months in the hospital. Including Jinta. At worst? He may not do it often, but Lojiin does know how to kill discretely."

"It seems to me that the best thing to do here would be to tell C-Sec what's going on and get some sort of protective custody." Unexpectedly, Kilat flinches a little at that and looks away from me.

"That, may not be such a good idea," he says hesitantly. "You see, we're not exactly on the Citadel… legally," he says, not daring to face me.

And what can I say? I'm angry that I never knew that I was friends with criminals, but now isn't the time to lose my head… as much as I want to. And who knows, maybe he has a good reason for being here illegally.

Plus, I'm not really one to talk, but at the same time it's not like I'm here by choice exactly.

"Okay, so why are you here illegally?"

He deliberates for a moment, and I can tell that there's a story behind this and he's wondering whether to tell me or not.

"I used to be a government engineer on Kahje," he begins, slowly. "I worked on the planetary defence system. At first life seemed good, but as I went further up the ranks I began to notice things. To the rest of the galaxy the relationship between the surviving Drell and the Hanar is symbiotic, but that isn't true."

"The fact is the Drell are slaves for the Hanar, they just don't realise it. It's somewhat known that Kahje still trades with the Hegemony, but they have a closer relationship than people realise. The Hanar aren't brutal about their slavery like the Batarians, instead they've cultivated the Drell they rescued to make them thankful for working for the Hanar."

I feel sick as he describes what's going on; I can't believe I didn't notice this before! I can't believe I never even thought about it when playing the game, I just took it as fact that the Hanar and the Drell had a good relationship.

The Hanar are polite to a fault and not physically gifted, who would think that these weak creatures could be slavers? The thing is, as I'm only now starting to realise, they don't enslave the body, they enslave the mind.

"I managed to convince Alrova of the same. Together we tried to break free, but we were discovered. We had to get off-world before we were imprisoned, executed or 'rehabilitated.' There's a resistance on Kahje, they managed to help us without tipping their hand; normally they'd have invited us into the resistance, but we were already known by the Hanar government. Ever since then we've been on the run, trying not to let them know where we are."

"So… no C-Sec?" I chuckle weakly. It makes sense. There are plenty of planets out there, and the Drell population is low enough that the entire population could move to a planet that's not dangerous to them. Why would they stay somewhere where the atmosphere constantly damages their lungs?

The answer; they have no choice, and they don't even realise it.

"No C-Sec," he agrees.

Damn this is all kinds of fucked up. I could just leave, find another area of the Citadel, get a different job, leave Kilat, Alrova and Jinta to their fates.

Except I can't. It was utterly terrifying waking up on the Citadel of all places, with no family, no friends, and no idea what I was going to do. I'm not going to go back to being alone in this universe, and I'm sure as hell not going to abandon my friends, as much as it seems like the smarter option at the moment.

"Right. Okay then. We need a plan, and we need help. We can dump scar face here into the alley behind the building, I'm sure Lojiin will come looking for him eventually. That buys us time. We need to get to the shelter, I'll ask Garosh and Jeerfan for help; Garosh has a few centuries under his belt and he's survived this long, and Jeerfan is a Turian; all Turians have military experience. Beyond that, we need to find somewhere that we can defend; I have no doubt Lojiin and his crew are gonna be packing heat, so I'm not going to try and talk this out."

I feel sick. I don't want to be involved in a damn firefight, but that's what it looks like this is shaping into, so I'm going to do the best I damn well can to come out of this alive, and bring all of my friends with me.

Plus, he tried to take a child, presumably as a hostage, and that pisses me off a bit. Well, a lot. So if this is going to turn deadly, I'm going to personally make sure I'm not the dead one.


	3. Chapter 3

Lightning Blades

AN: Okay, so I know everyone is looking forward to the next chapter and that it's been a long time coming. I had to suspend writing due to lack of time, as I had to focus on finishing my degree, which took up most of my time. After that, one of my hard drives, the one that I had almost all of chapter three on, corrupted and had to be formatted, and I hadn't backed it up. And then after that I built a new PC and had trouble getting Office installed. And after all of that I hit something of a writer's block for this. So, a lot of problems, but now I'm back!

Please enjoy.

* * *

We had decided to hide out at the warehouse, seeing as three out of the five of us knew it like the backs of our hands. Or talons, in Jeerfan's case. Thanks to Garosh knowing a few people in the slums we knew that Lojiin was planning on hitting us tonight, and planned to ambush them.

Needless to say, Garosh and Jeerfan were willing to help with some hesitation.

Kilat, Alrova and I have low quality civilian grade weapons and shields; every little helps. Garosh has… well he's Krogan, so himself, I guess. Jeerfan has an old military issue sniper rifle, and has opened a window in his office to shoot through.

Garosh climbs on top of a rack, and I feel a stab of pity for the poor bastard that he plans on crushing. My Drell friends and I are spaced around outside Jeerfan's office and hiding behind crates.

The warehouse has a large electronic garage style door, and my heart rate jumps as it begins opening, signalling Lojiin's arrival. I peek over the top of the crate I'm hiding behind to see eight Batarians enter, all carrying what look like military issue assault rifles and pistols.

I barely restrain the whimper of fear that wants to escape; seeing people with guns and knowing that they want to kill me is so much scarier than I imagined it could be. "No negotiations. Find and kill those Drell fuckers, and that Human bitch that helped them. Actually, keep the females alive, I want to break them first!"

I feel sick at those implications. Quiet settles over the warehouse as the Batarians spread out and begin searching. I can hear their heavy boots creating an odd rhythm that seems to follow the beat of my heart.

I jump out of my skin as a loud Krogan roar saturates the warehouse and Garosh jumps. A short scream and a disturbing squishing/crunching sound are all the input I need on what just happened.

My ears ring as Jeerfan lets a shot off, and I can hear shouts as Kilat and Alrova begin taking pot shots. As much as I want to help, I can't help but cower behind my crate.

I've known some nasty people in my short time, but these are trained Batarians with guns, not two-bit drug dealers who know a couple of guys with crowbars.

I take two deep breaths, trying to muster my courage. However, just as I stand up a Batarian appears on my left, disturbingly close, and with a sick grin showing off his sharp teeth. It's Herat. Panic grips me, and I try to smack him in the face with my pistol.

He almost lazily grabs my wrist and twists it, causing me to drop my gun and gasp in pain. "My turn," he says menacingly, and the next thing I know his fist is breaking my nose. I fall to the floor clutching the throbbing appendage and moaning in pain.

Have you ever been in a proper fight? Not a schoolyard tussle, but an actual fight? Because let me tell you now, a real fight is nothing like the movies. Most fights are over in a few seconds with only a couple of blows being exchanged.

The reason being is that getting hit hurts, and it is entirely disorientating. A large male Batarian breaking your nose is even more so.

He sits down on me, forcing my hips and shoulders to the ground painfully. Warm, coppery blood makes my lips sticky. My left cheek explodes with pain as he hits me again. My tongue stings. He hits me again, and my vision goes black and I feel the urge to vomit, my stomach tightening.

His weight momentarily disappears, and then I do vomit to the side as he drops his elbow into my stomach. I can feel the urge to pass out creeping up on me, veins of black and bright red crawling over my sight.

I hear a wet splatter, and an entirely too loud thud next to me. My vision is still dark from the repeated abuse, but the strikes have stopped for some reason.

"I am sorry I took so long," a deep Drell voice says from nowhere. The pain in my head and stomach is instantly soothed as something cool is spread over them.

I'm not sure how much time is passing, but I eventually get my vision back. I grunt in fear and confusion as Herat's face is directly in front of me, and despite the pain I shuffle away in instinctive terror of the one that hurt me so much.

However, upon closer inspection, I feel the urge to throw up again as I see the back of his head is missing. I sit up against the crate I had been hiding behind, and take deep, steadying breaths.

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.

I didn't sign up for this shit, but what's done is done. The sound of gunfire, and Krogan roaring, is curiously absent. I feel like I've regained my bearings and some strength, so I gingerly make my way to my feet, one arm caressing my abused stomach. I hold back from touching my sore face so as not to accidentally remove what I now realise is medi-gel.

I wonder who gave it to me, since I know none of us has enough money to afford medi-gel.

I hear something, and make my way, slowly, to the centre of the warehouse, where I see everyone else, thankfully alive, if not uninjured.

"Kalahira, grant this one mercy…" And standing over the bodies of some more Batarians is none other than Thane fucking Krios. What the fuck is he doing here? It's obvious that he's the one that saved me and applied the medi-gel, which is going to save my going to hospital.

Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful, but what the hell is he doing here?

I rack my brains trying to remember everything I can about him; I don't think I ever romanced him in the games, I've had a crush on Garrus since the start of ME2, but I'm sure I know something about this…

It strikes me. He had a wife, and before he joined the Normandy, he did some stuff associated with the 'had' part of that. It's discussed during his loyalty mission. With his son. Whom he abandoned to avenge the wife.

That's right, I remember now, he killed a Batarian gang leader, whose lieutenants killed his wife in retaliation, and he went on a decade long murder spree. Lojiin must have been one of the Batarians on his list.

"Thank you," he intones upon finishing his prayers. "I had been looking for an opportunity to eliminate Lojiin away from civilians for some time. You have my gratitude." He gives each of us a sort of bow, so I nod at him in return.

My companions and I glance at each other, and when I glance back, Thane is gone. It's actually creepy, seeing as we're in a well-lit factory surrounded by dead Batarians. "So… what do we do now?" Alrova asks the room at large, while her and Kilat hug each other for comfort.

Kilat has a graze on his arm which is bleeding sluggishly, and Alrova is shaking from the adrenaline wearing off.

"Now," Jeerfan says, "we all go home. That guy killed all but one of the Batarians; so long as we get out of here sharpish, no one should clock on that we had anything to do with this, especially since I turned all the cameras off. We'll have a few days to recuperate as well while C-Sec investigates, so just rest up."

Too tired to think of any other course of action, I just nod and let Garosh guide me back to the shelter, leaning my whole weight on his scaly shoulder. Thane has a style, and despite not catching him C-Sec always knew when he struck according to Bailey, so I'm not too worried.

For now I just want to sleep.

* * *

At last, at long fucking last, my program is complete. Farrah sits in front of me with her omni-tool glowing, ready to transfer the program to me. The program is basically FL Studio, and having been heavily involved in the process, I know how the program works.

"We don't have all day Ana," Farrah huffs, annoyed at having to come to the citadel again to give me the program physically. I'm still a little leery about doing stuff completely online, seeing as everyone has spies watching everything; I have no idea about anything relating to programming, hacking, or viruses.

I doubt a music creator is going to send up red flags, but still, knowing what I do, I think I have a right to be paranoid.

"Okay okay, you win, here," I say, and press the button my finger had been hovering over for the last minute or so. I almost cry as pretty much all of the money in my account disappears.

Hudo gives me a commissary pat on the shoulder. "Thank you very much. Here you go," my omni-tool beeps as the program transfers over, which only takes about ten seconds what with how advanced the computers are in the omni-tools.

"I hope if you ever need any kind of technical help again, you'll be sure to think of us first," Farrah commented, rising from the table primly.

"Will do, thanks for the program," I say, shaking her and Hudo's hands as we all walk out of June's Café.

"Thank you for the challenge."

* * *

You ever heard anyone say that all people like Skrillex or Avicii do is hit the play button?

Fuck those people.

Making music is hard. Like really hard. There is so damn much that goes into it that I think those like Skrillex or Avicii have a right to just hit the play button if they wanted to.

There's knowing musical theory so that you can build interesting chord progressions, and then being able to create a suitable melody from that, and then being able to do the drums and bass as well and make it all fit together mechanically speaking.

Then there's mixing synths and other instruments, as well as making your own sounds, which also requires more than a passing familiarity with sound design. Then there's adding effects and mixing it all to make it sound good together. And there's trying to put it all together into a song!

There's probably more that I'm missing right now, but the gist of it is, making a song is hard. My one saving grace is that I can remember some of my favourite dance songs pretty well, so I'm not starting from scratch but recreating stuff.

"What'cha doin'?" Garosh says as he sits down next to me. He's been… hovering, ever since the warehouse incident. It's sweet, and we've become better friends since he started, since he spends so much time with me and that leads to more conversation and the like.

"I'm attempting to turn this melody I've designed into a full song," I comment. I've been at this for two weeks now, and every now and then Garosh will wander over and ask what I'm doing. To be honest it helps to be able to describe to him what it is I'm doing and having trouble with.

Voicing the problems often leads me to thinking of solutions. At a gesture I tag his omni-tool with the sound from mine so he can hear what I've got and play it for him. I'm not one hundred percent sure if it's right, but what I've got sounds pretty damn close to Zombie Nation by Kernkraft 400.

I play it for him and Garosh is immediately tapping his foot and nodding his head. It's such a human gesture that I can't help but laugh at him. He looks at me like I'm mad (I probably am let's be honest).

"I like it. It's very different from what's usually on down at The Yoyax, but I could definitely imagine this being a hit," he comments, and I smile in pride. The Yoyax is the closest thing to a nightclub that I've seen this far down on the wards, and is a popular night out for this area of the wards.

He wanders off, and I get back to focusing on my music. It's frustratingly difficult, but I can't help but enjoy playing around and figuring stuff out.

I ignore that little voice in the back of my head telling me that Garosh only likes it because I'm his friend; he's much too blunt for that.

* * *

"… okay, thank you very much miss, I'll let you get back to it," a surprisingly tall Turian in blue C-Sec armour says, moving on to another resident of the shelter. Seriously, the guy must be pushing seven feet tall, he's fucking huge. And stocky; I think he's the only Turian I've ever seen with actual muscles under his plates.

I let out a breath of relief once he's out of earshot. Like I suspected C-Sec put the death of Lojiin and his gang down to Thane, but seeing as I work there, they had to question me (and the others) about if we knew anything. I'm a pretty good liar, had to be to protect my family from some of the people I got mixed up with in my earlier years, but it was still nerve wracking.

That night, I can't get myself motivated to do my music like normal. I'm looking at the interface, but I've gone into stare mode, not seeing what's in front of me. That is until a large Krogan hand waves in front of my face.

Garosh is next to me again. "What's eating ya girl?" He asks quietly, seeing as it's just late enough that other people are starting to go to sleep. I look at him, and despite our rocky start, I reckon Garosh is probably the most trustworthy person I know so far.

"I'm ashamed of myself," I say quietly. It's hard to admit, but it's true. Plus it's best not to bottle shit up, and like I said before, Garosh is a few hundred years old, he's seen enough and knows enough to be a good listener.

"Why?"

"That night that Lojiin attacked. Herat beat me like I was child, there was nothing I could do. I was too scared to even look around the crate I was crouching behind and shoot, I feel like a coward," I spit, feeling the sting of anger mixed with the sadness and shame.

"Was it your first firefight?" I nod. "You ever had any training?" I shake my head. "Then you've got nothing to worry about. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is shit scared before they've had training or experience. From the tiniest Volus to the greatest Battlemaster, I guarantee they were shaking in their boots the first time they ever saw a real firefight."

"Were you?" I ask quietly. Honestly it's hard to imagine Garosh being scared.

"Hehehe, yeah, course I was. This was way back before you humans were about of course. I was on the edge of the Attican Traverse, doing some mining on a small planet that I can't even remember the name of."

I hang on to his every word. Garosh doesn't talk about himself much, he's more of a listener, so to get a story out of him is a rare treat.

"Turns out the owner of the company doing the mining wasn't just a criminal, he was a big time criminal. Big enough that an Asari Huntress was sent to assassinate him. She walked into that place and used her biotics to rip the guy to shreds before our eyes. Everyone began to fire at her, futilely, and I just stood there holding my gun and watching as she killed everyone I'd been working with for the last few months. I'm not ashamed to say that the moment she set her sights on me I dropped my gun and ran."

I gasped, genuinely gasped. "You ran?"

"Yep," he nodded, the movement causing my bed to squeak. "I ran for all I was worth. If I hadn't I'd be dead. That's the truth really about everyone's first firefight; the only ones that survive are the lucky ones and the ones that don't fight. I'm not ashamed of you, and neither is Jeerfan or the others, so you shouldn't be either."

A moment passes between us. I hug the lizard. "Thanks Garosh. I really needed to hear that."

"Anything for you Ana."

* * *

The shelter is throwing a New Year's party. 2176 is nearly here, and it's an oddly sobering thought that I've been in this place for nearly six months now.

"TEN!"

I still feel like an outsider. It's hard not to when I know what's coming. I try not to think about it, but it occurs to me that in less than a decade this will all be gone.

"NINE!"

When the Reapers arrive, there won't be time for New Year parties, or Christmas, or birthdays or anything.

"EIGHT!"

There will only be unbridled fear. I have faith that whether I'm here or not Shepard will manage to stop them, but the Reapers terrorise the entire galaxy, millions, probably billions dead before he or she stops them.

"SEVEN!"

That's assuming of course that the end of Mass Effect 3 is real and not some indoctrination induced dream of Shepard's as the Reapers royally fuck over all life in the galaxy.

"SIX!"

It is mind-numbingly scary. It's one thing to think about their effect on the galaxy from outside the game, but this is all real to me now. Whether this is some elaborate fever dream or not doesn't matter, it seems real to me, and the fear I feel is real.

I don't want to die, and while it's a long way off, the Reapers threaten that. And that's the crux of it. I don't care about trying to convince the Councillors about what I know, or any militaries, or other powerful types.

I don't care about saving as many people as possible. I don't care about preparing others who will listen for the threat to come.

I care about number one, me, and then a couple of others like Garosh, Jeerfan, the Drells and Kiellan. That's all.

"THREE!"

"TWO!"

"ONE!"

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

A big scaly arm winds around my shoulders, and I lean into Garosh, just taking comfort in his presence.

* * *

I'm uploading my first complete song onto the extranet this evening, so I've decided to use what few savings I have left to buy some nice food for my friends and I.

Almost half of that went on buying some authentic Earth chicken, which due to shipping taxes and how new Humans still are to the galactic community, is exorbitantly expensive.

There's a lot of unrest depicted in the games among the established races about how quickly and aggressively Humanity has wormed its way into every facet of galactic life. On the one hand I can see where they're coming from, it would disconcert me too, but on the other, the most aggressive front is the political arena, and with good reason.

I'll be honest, politics never really interested me before I ended up here; all it seemed to me was a bunch of bloated fat cats making stupid decisions because they have no idea about the real world.

Here it is much different. This universe is harsh; if there's anyone who has been untouched by tragedy, disaster, or crime, then I have yet to meet them, or even hear about them. Therefore, the politicians, for the most part, actually have some value.

It's subtle, but the reason for an aggressive character like Udina representing Humanity to the Citadel Council is because said council has subtly and not so subtly sought to subjugate Humanity financially and politically.

Unfair shipping taxes, technological reliance, military limitation treaties, and more are all the ways that the 'Big Three' have attempted to make Humans a minor client race. I don't think I have to explain why that was a mistake, and why the Alliance decided Udina was the best man for the job.

I follow certain political arenas closely now because of that. I also hold a small hope that in doing so I will be able to identify indoctrinated agents in the future, but I reckon that's more of a pipe dream than anything.

… Back to shopping, I've decided to make enchiladas for my friends (Jeerfan doesn't live at the shelter and won't be joining us, so I don't have to worry about making a dextro version), after looking them up to make sure they're safe to eat for everyone.

Having bought everything for way too much money, I begin the journey home, having had to get a taxi to a higher ward to find a store that sold what I was looking for.

"And so the Enkindlers shall light the way…" I hear, turning towards the Hanar preaching across the street. I feel a flare of sympathetic anger in my chest for my friends, and decide to have a closer look.

I can't keep the scowl off my face. I'm not religious, never have been and never will be, but I don't mind other people being so. What I don't like is people throwing out their doctrine in attempts to convert others, or shoving it down kids' throats and brainwashing them.

"The devout shall have their faith rewarded…"

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and a Drell voice that I don't recognise behind me. "And the sinful shall have their due compensation. In time."

My heart leaps into my throat. I spin, slapping the person next to me with my hair, to see the space behind me empty. I scan the street, but there aren't even any Drell in sight. I feel a tingle down my spine, and my throat feels tight.

"And the sinful shall have their due compensation!" The Hanar finishes, and I turn again.

That can't have been a coincidence. I rush back to the shelter, looking over my shoulder every other second.

I'm friends with Kilat and Alrova; that's the only reason I can think for something so fucking freaky happening. I think I've said this a lot since ending up here, but what the fuck?!

I don't sleep well that night.

The enchiladas are good though, that's something.

* * *

Garosh had today off, so Jeerfan and I had to cover for his absence. I can feel the ache in my shoulders and the weight of my eyelashes as I walk home.

"Go back to Earth, bitch!"

I stop and look around, wondering who had angered a random Turian. Seeing no other humans around, I focus on said Turian to see him glaring at me with dark yellow eyes, teeth bared.

"What?" Not the most eloquent phrasing, but it gets the point across.

"You heard me, no one wants your kind here," he spits, starting from the wall he was leaning against. All Turians, without exception, have military experience, meaning that if he wants to hurt me, he won't have to try very hard.

June's is just down the road, and I start stepping that way only to impact the cold, metallic plating of another Turian that had snuck up behind me.

My heart hammers in my chest, with two Turians surrounding me and with clearly hostile intent.

"Look, I don't want any trouble," I begin, but the one behind me shoves my shoulder, cutting me off.

"Don't matter bitch, your kind are nothing but trouble," the one in front sneers, or at least the Turian approximation of such.

These guys aren't just going to leave me alone, they obviously want to make trouble. Thinking quick, I turn and make a mad dash towards June's.

"Hey!" The suddenness of my movement takes them off guard, but already the sound of their talons scratching the pavement is too close for comfort.

"LUITI!" I scream, getting the plea out just as the Turians catch up to me. A talon carves a bloody furrow in my shoulder, drawing a breathy gasp of pain from my lips and spinning me round.

I use the momentum to throw a punch, screaming at the pain in my shoulder as I do so. The Turian must not be expecting it, seeing how his eyes widen, and my fist connects with his face.

The metallic plates covering his leathery skin are as hard as they look; fire sparks in my hand, which I immediately cradle to my chest, sucking air through my clenched teeth and holding the strain of the pain back, tears gathering involuntarily.

I flinch unintentionally at movement and bring my arms up, fortuitously as it blocks the second Turian from kicking me in the face.

A moment passes, during which I notice that there are a half dozen people walking past the confrontation, half of which are looking on approvingly at a Human getting the shit kicked out of them.

It infuriates me on a primal level; I'm no saint but I don't think I could stand by and let anyone, no matter their race, get beaten up like this.

"You'll pay for that you fucking Jad-Skin," the one I punched says, pulling out a serrated knife. The world slows down and I can feel my blood pulsing through my neck; sharpening my focus and giving me time to think.

All I can think is that I'm going to die; I can feel that same shame as when Herat nearly killed me, and yet for all that I wish I could, there is nothing I can do to save myself.

My vision fills with blue, black and white, swirling mesmerizingly. It takes me a moment to recognise the biotics, and a second more to identify a singularity, which is noticeably smaller and weaker than anything I've ever seen in any of the games.

"Stay away from my friend you fucking bums!" Luiti screams, and half a dozen shots take out the shields of the two Turians, who drop to the floor a moment later as the singularity ends.

They get up and look between the two of us for a moment, the desire to hurt me and the fact that its two men against two women weighing up in their minds, but then Luiti fires another shot, dangerously close to one of them, and they scarper.

"Fuck, I missed," I hear Luiti mutter, and can't help but laugh, despite the pain, at the unusually crass language of the Asari barista. "Are you alright Ana?" She asks after she's put the gun away, bringing a strong blue hand under my arm and helping me up.

"Yeah, I've had worse, no worries," I say with a smile, because I have had worse (Herat, the ex-boyfriend, that two bit drug dealer with a pipe wrench), but it doesn't seem to assure my Asari friend.

She walks me into the café, sits me down and disappears behind the counter, where another Asari is serving customers a little fretfully, obviously having not expected her boss to race out the door gun in hand.

A sweet roll and proper cup of tea appear in front of me, to which I smile gratefully. Luiti sits down next to me with a cup of tea of her own; I've managed to convert her to the English brew, much to my crowing delight and her mild chagrin.

"It is utterly disgraceful how some people behave," Luiti comments. A wry grin splashes across my face, and she flushes a dark purple; she had just walked out of her café swearing and shooting.

"Yeah, but plenty of people need something or someone to hate, and Humans are new to the galactic stage; that makes us an easy target unfortunately," I comment to an understanding nod.

"Thanks for having my back Luiti, I appreciate it, really, I mean, that guy probably wouldn't have killed me, not in public like that, but still..." I say sadly. I realise with a pang of melancholy that I've now had two serious threats to my life and it hasn't even been a year.

While I've had death threats before, those were in East London, not the heart of a galactic government; the fact that the level of violence is so high so close to the leaders of the galaxy is both disappointing and disturbing, and only serves to highlight the rot that infects the galaxy.

The failings of the galactic society were a relatively minor consideration in the games due to their being games and the not inconsiderable threat of the Reapers. The games also tended to focus on the higher level politics seeing as Shepard had a tendency to deal with government leaders and the like.

However, in my humble opinion, half the reason the fight against the stupid mecha-Cthulhu death machines goes to shit so quickly is due to the blatant racism, one-upmanship and inability of the Asari, Turian and Salarians to truly police any respectable portion of the galaxy.

"It is no trouble Ana, you're my best customer, and a friend," Luiti says with her heart, bringing a grateful smile to my face. I feel heat bloom across my cheeks as the Asari lays her hand on mine and rubs the back of my hand in a comforting gesture.

"Are you hitting on me?" I ask, unable to keep the hint of amusement and embarrassment out of my voice.

"If I am?" She asks with a sultry smile.

"I'd have to tell you that I prefer the attentions of people markedly more manly, I'm afraid," I respond apologetically, though that barely deters my blue friend.

"But I'm not technically a woman you know; we Asari _are_ mono-gendered. I've never understood the other species' apprehension towards only desiring half of their population, there are all sorts of avenues open to someone a little more... free," she explains breathily, hand still holding mine, her thumb tracing circles on the back of mine.

"Trust me, I understand," I explain, "but I'm not interested in that way. Sorry Luiti," I shrug; it's true, I've never been attracted to women, and as much as Asari aren't 'female,' they still have boobs and soft skin and the like, so no thanks.

"Ah well, can't blame a girl for trying," she responds in a nonchalant manner, and though I can detect a hint of disappointment, she doesn't seem too put out.

"I thought you just said you weren't female," I say with a teasing smile, causing her to smirk.

"Well I did say 'technically,'" she rebuts.

We're interrupted by Luiti's trainee barista, who is panicking slightly at being left to deal with the customers solo and appears to have pressed the wrong button on the coffee machine.

"Don't be a stranger Ana."

"See ya later Luiti," I say with a smile as the elder Asari goes and starts fixing whatever the younger one had messed up.

I keep an eye for those two Turians as I exit the café, but there's no sign of them save for the scuff marks. Seeing as how it's barely a two minute walk from the café to the shelter, I doubt they'll show up. I observe the kinds of people that live this far down as I walk, feeling oddly reflective, considering all of them stood by and watched as a helpless woman was beaten in public.

Asari, Salarians and Turians certainly make up the majority of the poor and beaten down on the Citadel, but only just. There are also Krogan, Drell, Quarians, Elcor, Volus, Humans, that are all down on their luck. That brings me to another realisation, concerning one of my earlier assumptions when I first appeared in this place.

People on the Citadel are short. I'm fairly tall. I bumped into Garosh and didn't fall over. There is a simple explanation for all of this, and my previous theory was somewhat right, but also completely wrong, according to a quick search on my omnitool.

Most of the people here were born on the Citadel, which has slightly different gravity and atmospheric pressure compared to Earth, which results in people that have lived here their whole lives being shorter compared to Earth natives.

I'd mentioned before that I hadn't really seen many Krogan, well the truth is that Garosh is quite small for a Krogan, just under a foot smaller than most of his race.

It reminds me that I'm not all knowing. Just because I'm not from here in about the biggest way possible, just because I have precious foreknowledge, just because I think I'm clever, it doesn't mean I can make assumptions.

Assumptions are what will get me killed.

There are actually several studies that I've found online documenting the changes that Humans undergo in the various new climates they inhabit. The Citadel is one of the few places where the gravity and pressure have affected them negatively; most military personnel, thanks to high intensity training on certain planets, and having access to advanced gene mods, are incredibly strong and fast compared to pre-mass effect baselines.

* * *

"YEEEEEESSSSSSS!"

The entire shelter is looking at me from where I've just jumped into the air screaming. I don't even care because liquid happiness is bubbling in my chest.

A second passes and I've yet to bring my arms down from their upright position.

"Ana?" Kiellan asks after another moment of silence. Responding to the unasked question I throw caution to the wind and pick the sick Asari up in a bear hug and swing her round, laughing and crying at the same time.

"I got the gig! I fucking got it!"

Two weeks ago I had gone to the Yoyax and asked if they would play a couple of the songs I had recreated. I then asked that if they did well if I could have the opportunity to effectively DJ for a night, presenting all of my original (well, in this universe) material in one night of grandstanding that would hopefully set me on the path to money.

"RAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!" Garosh screams as he stands up and raises his arms in a perfect imitation of my own outburst, causing everyone within ten feet of the screaming Krogan to back up in an astonishing display of universal survival instinct.

"When's the gig?" Kiellan asks, grinning fit to burst. I check my omnitool, because I had only actually seen the confirmation that I had gotten the gig.

"February 20th, so Saturday next week," I explain to my friends as I read the rest of the email from Kerren Kerrenan, owner of the Yoyax. The Turian had bought the club from a Batarian about five years back apparently, and in that time the place had turned from a drug den with strippers and music to a nightclub with strippers and drugs.

We've all got to start somewhere, right?

"Oooh, I'm so happy for you darling," Kiellan gushes, finally breaking away from my hug completely.

"You're both gonna be there right?" I ask the two, to which they nod. I can barely stop myself from bouncing on the spot I'm so happy. "Awesome, I'm going to go ask Jeerfan, Kilat and Alrova if they want to go as well; oh, and tell them the news I suppose."

I spin to rush off but a large scaly hand grabs the back of my shirt and halts me in my tracks. I turn a questioning eye on the big lizard.

"Go slow Ana, I'm worried that those two Turians will be about again; I'm gonna shadow ya in case ya get into any trouble," Garosh says with an absolute air about him. "Trouble follows you like a damn magnet after all," I hear him mutter, to which I can't help but grin.

"Sure thing Garosh."

We leave the shelter a moment later and I turn to make my way towards Kilat and Alrova's place. The decision to speak to the two Drell first was decided when I realised that I actually have no idea where Jeerfan lives.

The two Turian thugs fail to make an appearance on the way to Kilat and Alrova's. After telling them the news ("AAAAHHHH, I'm so happy for you! Of course we'll come!") and getting the location of Jeerfan's apartment from Garosh since Alrova practically forced him in for a drink, I head off to see my final friend.

It's just after I ring the buzzer for Jeerfan's flat that a talon clamps onto my wrist; the Turians are back. "Been waiting for you to show up again bitch; I normally can't tell you Jad-Skins apart, but you're nice and noticeable," he says with a malicious grin, eyes flicking to my tattoos and piercings.

"And you're nice and stupid," a welcoming deep rumble comes from behind. I see the Turian's eyes widen in fear, and then a Krogan fist courtesy of Garosh hits the Turian in the stomach and throws him six feet back.

I sigh in relief, but let out a scream when a flash of blue flickers across my vision, instantly recognising it as the sign of a bullet hitting my shield. Two more shots impact it, and it shatters.

Garosh grabs me and holds me behind him. More shots sound off, and Garosh gives a grunt as his shields also give out, followed by several wet thunks.

"GAROSH!" He slumps to the floor, red liquid splashing down from the holes in his chest. "No no no no, please don't d- just please no," I ramble, hot tears on my cheeks. I try to hold the blood in, somehow, but it pumps sickeningly through my fingers with a squelching sound.

"No. NO! NOOOO!" Rage grips me, so fast that my hands shake, so much of it that it hurts to breathe. I pull my gun from the holster I wear on the belt of my jeans seeing as I don't have a magnetic strip.

In one smooth motion I point it at the two Turians that are still laughing at us, and pull the trigger as many times as I can. Shields flash, and the two scarper, though I manage to shoot one of them in the leg as they run away, the final shot before my shitty little pistol overheats.

"Ugh, that fucking hurt," a bass rumble speaks behind me. Garosh is standing up and the bleeding has almost completely stopped.

Of course; I can't believe I forgot that Krogan regenerate.

"Ow," he grunts as I wrap my arms around him.

"I'm sorry Garosh, are you going to be okay?" I ask him as I wipe my eyes clear with the back of my hand. He gives me a grin and a shoulder pat that nearly knocks me to my knees.

"Of course, takes more than that to take out a Krogan."

"Ana! Garosh!" Jeerfan comes running out of the apartment complex and fussing over us, well me really, making sure that I'm not hurt. Garosh is already at what he calls the 'itching stage' of his natural regeneration.

We adjourn to Jeerfan's apartment, where the Turian provides water seeing as he has nothing in the kitchen for levo people.

"What happened?" He asks once we've all sat down.

"Ana's got a couple of stalkers, Turians, got something against Humans and taking it out on the pyjack for some reason. Ambushed her at the door to the complex, started firing shots when I showed up. Ana did quite well, managed to shoot one of them in the leg," he compliments me.

I've never shot someone before, but I'm no stranger to violence, as poorly as I've acquitted myself so far on the Citadel.

"Could you describe the two of them?" Jeerfan asks, frowning thoughtfully.

"Both about average height, black and green face paint, yellow eyes," Garosh describes, astounding me somewhat since I couldn't have told you any of that.

"Yeah, I know who you're talking about. Mylo and Benner Uteerian, brothers. Their dad was Captain Fynn Uteerian, one of the men who alerted the Council to the attack on Shanxi; he died in the fighting before the Asari and Salarians got there."

Jeerfan took a breath and a drink of water, gathering his thoughts. "Neither got very far and dropped out of the military the moment they were able, and they've been making nuisances of themselves since; they settled here around three years ago, and they haven't exactly made any friends; drugs, guns, they're both mixed up in all that shit, though to what degree nobody really knows."

"Well, let's hope they don't show up again," I comment, both wanting to hurt them and never wanting to see them again.

Jeerfan chuckles darkly. "Anyway," he continues, looking at me, "was there any particular reason you were visiting?"

I smile, "yeah, actually. I got the gig at the Yoyax, I'm on stage on the 20th, you gonna be there?"

"Haha, get in, I knew you could do it! And of course I'll be there, what do you take me for?"

"A lecher and an opportunist," I reply deadpan, causing Jeerfan to gape at me with shocked indignation and Garosh to burst out laughing, grabbing his stomach and nearly falling off the sofa in the process.

"I- how could you say that about me? I thought we were friends!" Jeerfan asks incredulously, widening the Cheshire grin I now sport.

"Why Jeerfan, it's because I'm your friend that I know you so well!"

Mood sufficiently lightened and mission complete, Garosh and I head back to the shelter, keeping an eye out for any vengeful Turians on the way.


	4. Chapter 4

Lightning Blades

AN: Shout out to RebelHeart94, The Perpetual Shadow, gasacan90, Counter-Terrorist and Pteaset for their kind reviews. Also, updates will still be infrequent due to the amount of time and effort it takes to write a chapter for this story.

* * *

I can't help but giggle madly, to marked discomfort among my friends, at the sight of 50,000 credits in my bank account. That's the equivalent of about £5,500. The gig was an absolute hit by all accounts, I was originally getting paid 30,000 credits, but the night was so successful that Kerren gave me a bonus.

Well that's what he called it, really he's just trying to buy my loyalty since he obviously thinks I've got potential; the potential to make him a lot of money, that is.

"So what now?" Garosh asks with a grin. We all have a private booth in the VIP area of the Yoyax, courtesy of Kerren as a thank you for bringing him so much business the previous night.

The area follows the Turian idea of chic, with rough, dark, stony walls and light blue metallic furniture, somewhat like Noveria.

"Now," I begin once I have my laughter under control, "we play at a few other clubs around the lower wards, build up a name, and then go for a gig at a club in the upper wards. From there, I'm thinking we start hitting home worlds, Earth, Palaven, Thessia, probably not Sur'Kesh since I'm not actually sure if they have clubs there..."

It's an interesting question actually. The Salarians may be levo-amino acid based like most of the galaxy, but they are definitely one of the weirdest intelligent species. Primarily, of course, due to their matriarchal society and the ratio of males to females, which is about 90% male by design, but there are other things that set them apart too.

There are little things you don't see in the games, such as how their horns augment their sense of hearing, so they are more capable of detecting low frequency sounds, such as footsteps or rumbling machinery, but less able to catch high frequency sounds, typically capping at around 17,500 Hz.

Interestingly, Humans have the best hearing among all of the races overall, if only because we're the only ones that actually have ears, and thus have a greater range of amplitude detection, which is just a fancy way of saying we're better at hearing really quiet things. We also have the greatest total range of hearing, of 20 – 20,000 Hz.

Salarians can hear 15 – 17,500, Krogan can hear 40 – 18,000, Turians 25 – 20,000 and Asari 20 – 18,000. It really epitomises the challenges that the different species faced over the course of their evolution, seeing how different traits are expressed due to the myriad of selection pressures.

"Ow," I say upon Alrova lightly slapping me in the face. "What the hell was that for?"

"You were off in your little dreamscape again," Kilat teases.

"Oh, sorry. What was I saying?" I ask, huffing when the others laugh at me. I'm not that bad!

"Something about conquering all of the home worlds except Sur'Kesh?" Jeerfan jokes, so I kick him in the shin from under the table. He growls and glares at me.

"Well not conquering, but yes, this is the beginning of my fortune," I say, outwardly confident. Inside I'm wondering how I ever made such a motley group of friends, and marvelling at just how much they mean to me.

I feel like a cheat, or some sort of villain. What right do I have to withhold my knowledge of what is to come from these people? How can I keep lying to them? Everything that I'm doing is a mad, desperate attempt to survive the sheer, nigh unstoppable power of the Reapers.

I guess what it comes down to is I don't want my friends, the people I've come to rely on in this universe, to live with the same mind numbing terror I do every day.

That and I don't want to lose them, thinking that I'm a mad woman, prophesising doomsday like some kind of kooky fortune teller.

"TO FORTUNE!" Garosh bellows, raising a glass of pitch black paint thinner that he calls ryncol.

"TO FORTUNE!" We all reply, raising our respective alcoholic beverages.

* * *

16,450,650.

That's the number of credits, equal to about £1.8 million, I need to set up a private lab/base, in the Valhallan Threshold, far away from anyone else, and anything I can remember going down in the games. The cluster may be in the Terminus Systems, but it is out of the way, has no colonised planets, and very little interest in the way of helium-3 or precious metal mining.

The amount of money I need would cover two construction class YMIR mechs, and twelve construction class LOKI mechs. Throw in the equipment and prefabs required to build an expansive lab/living area with life support, and then the things I need to experiment such as a forge, electrical equipment and wiring, as well as a large shipment of eezo, and you have a lot of money.

That and it would cover the cost of hiring a cargo ship to transport all of the materials, since no way am I getting them delivered so that anyone knows where the hell I'm going, as well as the machinery required to dig the area out. I'm going to build it underground, harder to spot that way, easier to hide heat signatures and the like.

I've actually been researching how to do this completely discretely as well. I don't want anyone, for example the Shadow Broker, or Cerberus, or even the Alliance, to be capable of finding my lab.

I've been researching how to write a virus that will destroy any electronic evidence of any purchases I make, how to minimise the online presence of my omnitool, and what flags mark shady online deals and how they're tracked.

I've been thinking about what route to take so no one knows where I'm really headed at any time on the route from Citadel Space to the edge of the Terminus Systems; using dummy names and different delivery places and times for all of the materials so none of it can be traced to me.

Fake bank accounts using different omnitools which are destroyed once the accounts are closed have also been considered.

It might seem excessive, but damn it the Shadow Broker knew _everything_ about _everybody_. My biggest advantage is that I'm not even on their fucking radar at the moment. Who cares about some homeless Human making and playing music at a shitty little club in the lower wards?

I've been trying to adopt the go big or go home mentality. Seeing as how I can't go home, that only really leaves me with one option, doesn't it?

I could just carry on as is, keep my head down, not get mixed up in anything, but that has an unsatisfyingly high chance of resulting in my eventual death; especially if Shepard's indoctrination ending is canon.

The things I need to do to survive will no doubt place me squarely on the 'interesting' tab of people I'd really rather avoid.

However, that's in the future, so if I can cover my tracks now, while no one is looking for them, then my chances for remaining hidden increase exponentially.

* * *

"LOCK THEM UP OR MAKE THEM GO. WE DON'T WANT HUMANS HERE NO MORE."

These are the words that greet Jeerfan and I as we are scoping out the next club that I'll be playing at. It's a completely neon bar, to a headache inducing degree honestly, in the middle area of the wards.

It's also on another arm; I've been living, without knowing, on the Tayseri Ward this entire time. This neon club, called Ultha, is on the Kithoi Ward. The rapid transit system, which we had to use to cross the arms, is basically a taxi service where you drive yourself, meaning its actually mostly inexpensive since there's no need to pay drivers.

With a separate VI linked to Avina's network and thousands of traffic controllers being used to coordinate the cars and direct the ones that have been requested, the system actually works really smoothly, which is odd for how dysfunctional just about everything else here is.

"GO BACK TO EARTH AND SHANXI, YOU'RE NOT WANTED IN THE GALAXY!"

Someway down the thoroughfare are a group of Asari, Turians, Salarians, Volus and Hanar protesting about the presence of Humans on the Citadel. The AHA, or Anti Human Alliance, (talk about a lack of inspiration) are the front runners for the purging of Humans from galactic society, a two sided organisation of peaceful protestors and dangerous terrorists.

With the backdrop of faux-sky that is part of the Citadel's day cycle, the group is chanting with placards, primarily directed at passersby. There aren't many Humans at this level, since most Humans on the Citadel are either in the lower wards and the slums, or on the Presidium.

"Ignorant fools, the lot of them," Jeerfan mutters by my side, glaring at the group. At a glance I see that he's not just glaring, there is genuine hate on his face.

"You alright?" I ask him; it's decidedly odd to see him looking so angry, a little scary even, what with his raptorian features and dark eyes. It's a far cry from his usual laid back demeanour.

"Fine," he spits venomously, the antithesis to his characteristic humour. "Let's get out of here."

I follow him all the way back to his apartment, silent all the way, not quite willing to leave him alone yet. He gets me a drink of water and sits opposite me in his somewhat spartan living room, all clean, hard edges and utilitarianism.

"You want to talk about it?" I ask after a few moments of silence. His angry look subsides at that, and he sighs, the set of his shoulders suggesting extreme exhaustion. He runs a hand along his fringe, a gesture similar in meaning to Humans rubbing their eyes.

"I'm gonna be twenty seven this year you know," he comments randomly.

"That's not that old, Humans and Turians live to about the same age," I snort, wondering where this is going.

"Hehe, yeah I know, but it's old enough. What's the Human saying? 'Better to have loved the lost than to never know it?'" He hisses somewhat, and I realise after a moment that Jeerfan is crying.

I jump to my feet and sit next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. It occurs to me that it's odd that sadness is expressed so similarly in two so very different species, but now's not the time to think about it.

"You've loved someone then?" I ask delicately.

"Y-yeah... her name was Helosi, Helosi Garrukan. She was two years younger than me, we went to the same school, and then to the same military academy. She was so talented, so good at everything she tried, she jumped forward in the program, overtook me and my squadmates within a year of training."

He takes a long gulp of his drink, which smells fruity, and I strongly suspect to be relatively alcoholic.

"She was taken for Cabal training she was that good. I didn't see her again for two years. Me and the crew were deployed for a training exercise, but a Batarian raid intercepted us. Helosi showed up halfway through the battle, having docked the Batarian ship in a tiny skiff."

More alcohol was consumed, by this point Jeerfan's tears were flowing freely and he was leaning into my touch a fair amount. Whatever he was drinking was much stronger than I thought.

"I ended up sniping a Batarian that was about to knife her from behind; it was the best shot I ever made, especially since I did it with a pistol. It saved her life, after she had saved my entire crew's."

"We were married for three years and enjoying military life when one of life's little hiccoughs came along; w-we were going to call her Henusa, after Helosi's grandmother. The labour hit near relay 314; we had to make an emergency landing on Shanxi."

I could already see where this was going, though I absolutely wanted to refuse to believe it. I was crying myself by this point, trying not to let my own sniffles interrupt what was clearly a painful memory.

"There were only three xeno-qualified doctors planet side, and a complication with the pregnancy; needless to say I was frantic. However, the Human doctor, Janet Crosby, was absolutely fantastic; she made sure my wife and daughter survived a difficult pregnancy."

"Then the terror attack from the AHA happened. I was holding my daughter in my arms when the hospital was targeted."

I gasped, understanding dawning horrifically quickly. Jeerfan's voice was completely even as he mentioned the AHA's most infamous attack; The St Andrew's Day Bombing. A group of old Turians, members of the AHA, had attacked key areas in the capital city of Shanxi in response to the Terra Firma rally of 2173.

Several were shot dead, but most were arrested and handed over to the Hierarchy, and very little has been heard about them since, save for the usual anniversary updates that happen for a few years after such tragedies.

"The first bomb went off three rooms down, vaporising an elderly couple who gave sweets to all the kids on the ward. It sent me flying through the doorway and breaking a bench with my body, the screams of my infant daughter ringing in my ears."

"I ignored the pain, rushed back into the room and grabbed Janet and Helosi, where we then began making our way out of the hospital. Rubble and screaming people were everywhere, it was chaos like I'd never seen."

"The second bomb went off underneath us, dropping us two floors. Janet was impaled by a broken bed leg, through her right lung; she shooed us away as she died. We kept running, but Helosi was tired from the birth. I put Henusa in her arms and picked her up and continued running."

"The AHA were waiting for any survivors outside. I had barely made it into open air before bullets began whizzing by, and I dived behind the rubble for safety. The problem was that they hadn't been as inaccurate as I'd hoped."

I grasped Jeerfan's shaking hand, letting him take strength in my presence; I'm amazed that his voice is still steady.

"By the time the AHA had been repelled and the medics had pried my arms apart, I was already painfully aware that neither Helosi nor Henusa were breathing any longer. I had to hold them as my wife and newborn daughter died at the hands of those _fucking_ hate mongers."

"Oh Jeerfan, I'm so sorry," I whisper as I hug him, trying desperately to squeeze some comfort into the poor man. He breaks down sobbing.

"It's been over two years since they died," he chokes out.

I hold him until he falls asleep, and awkwardly carry him to his bedroom.

My mood is solemn as I trek back to the shelter.

* * *

The Ultha gig went as well as the Yoyax one did, and it's gotten to the point where I've got both club owners asking when I can play again, as well as some tentative offers from other lower ward clubs.

Combine that with my stuff being available for purchase online, and I've got a fairly steady source of income separate from my day job. In the last month I've made roughly 180,000 credits, which is about £19,800; that's more than some people earn in a year.

"I'm afraid I can only do weekends at the moment," I say regretfully to the latest club owner, hanging up a moment later; there are a lot of clubs on the Citadel, seeing as the Asari are the dominant species in the galaxy by all accounts, and their maidens have a strong clubbing culture that's prevalent at their highest population centres; the Citadel, Thessia, Illium, Imeria.

I consider the problem for a moment, and coming to a decision I take a deep breath and hit the call button on my omnitool.

I've spoken to Jeerfan a couple of times since that day, and he's back to his usual self, though he seems lighter than he used to; I like to think I helped him out by listening to him and letting him get it off his chest.

The pain of losing a loved one never goes away, not really. It can catch you at the oddest times, little things that trigger a fresh wave of tears, and though the tears fade and thoughts drift away, they're never forgotten.

"Ana?"

"Heya Jeerfan, how you doing?"

"Good actually, there's a two for one special down the road on guya noodles, you?"

"Well, I just turned down another gig because I can't do week nights, and I think, well..."

"Ah, you're finally quitting at the warehouse huh?" He asks with a laugh.

"Yea- wait what do you mean finally? Is this the thanks I get for all my hard work?!" I ask indignantly.

"Come off it Ana, we've all been waiting for you to realise that you're too in demand to stick to stacking shelves in a warehouse."

"Seriously? Why didn't anyone say anything then?"

"Honestly? You're the best accountant I'm ever gonna get and the others are scared of you."

I scoff. "Scared? Of me? Is it the tattoos or the piercings?" I ask sarcastically.

"No it's the fact you kicked a Krogan in the soft and danglies on your second day in a homeless shelter and turned him into your best friend," Jeerfan says with all seriousness.

Looking back on it, yeah, I see what he means.

"Okay, so, you're okay with me quitting? You're not gonna be fucked without me?"

"No promises," he jokes.

"I... can't tell if you're making a sex joke or not; it's hard to see."

"... Are you making a sex joke?" He asks in return, sounding genuinely confused.

"I'll speak to you later Jeerfan, and thanks for not, you know, being pissed at me for quitting."

"No worries Ana, see ya later."

"Bye."

I call Kerren, and then Ultha (yeah the club is named after the guy that runs it, sadly), to let them both know that I'm now available for week nights and somewhat more of a schedule.

I can practically hear the 'ch-ching' as their eyes are replaced with pound signs.

* * *

"You all ready for another?!" I shout into the mic, one hand in the air, as the crowd before me roars in approval.

I'm playing at the Ultha again, and there must be over three hundred people crammed into the club.

This gig is a special one, as Breg Ultha, the Batarian that owns the club, gave me permission to use his crew for lights and effects.

With an effective carte blanche, I went whole hog; dry ice, lasers, flames, glow sticks for the crowd, animations on a large holographic screen behind me.

It's all coming out of my pocket, but with any luck tonight will be my biggest haul yet; I've got a 150,000 credit payday riding on it.

"I SAID ARE YOU FUCKING READY?!" I hold the mic out for the crowd's response, feeling a grin splitting my face.

The sheer energy of being on stage with the crowd screaming and cheering and dancing and _moving_ to the things you've created is incredibly heady. It is, hands down, the biggest adrenaline rush and the best high I've ever had.

If I'd had this as a teenager I never would have turned to drugs; I'm already hooked.

That's why it takes me a moment to notice that someone isn't moving in time with the rest of the crowd. It merely seems odd at first, until I spot a second area of the mass before me that looks wrong, out of sync.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and for the life of me I can't tell you how I know, I just get the intense feeling that I'm in danger.

The two parts of the crowd that caught my attention resolve themselves, I feel my breath hitch painfully, and my stomach flip-flops at the sight of Mylo and Benner Uteerian, statues in a crowd of writhing flesh, radiating malice with their forced stillness.

Three loud bangs are clearly audible even over the sound of the music.

The first impacts my shield, causing the telltale blue glow to flash over my body, though the crowd seem to think it's just effects at first, timed as the flash was with a drop in whatever song I had playing.

The second slams into one of the speakers, shattering the box completely and shorting out the entire sound system, leaving the whole club in confused quiet.

I dive to my right, desperate to escape. The third shot echoes in the strangely silent club, and once again impacts my shield. Heat blooms an instant later, as the shot from the obviously upgraded pistol rips right through my shield and makes a hole just above my left hip.

I see more than feel the world spin, the force of the shot pushing me over a couple of times. I can't move, my breath is choked, and I feel like I'm going to pass out from lack of oxygen, until things begin to filter into my brain again, past the shock.

The first is the sound of screaming and the feel of hundreds of feet hitting the ground thrumming through the stage, vibrating my skull.

The next is the sheer agony of the bullet wound, and I whimper involuntarily because _god fucking damn it it hurts it hurts it hurts..._

I try and put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding, because that's what you're meant to do and it can save your life, but the moment I do I scream and pull my hand away because that just makes the pain _worse._

"ANA!" Kilat climbs onto the stage, rushing over. He puts a hand over his mouth as he takes stock of the situation, making me worry about how much blood he can see. He taps his arm.

"Ultha Club, Kithoi Ward, level 114, I need an ambulance, there's been a shooting, the DJ, Anastasia Volkov, Human, has a pistol shot wound to her left flank, just above the hip bone, there's a lot of blood..." Kilat says, showing the first aid training he had when he was an engineer on Kahje.

Kilat's words fade into obscurity, like there's cotton wool in my ears. I understand that the loss of my hearing is a bad thing, as it means that I'm losing a lot of blood. I feel a sudden spike of fear because I don't want to fucking die but it quickly fades as cloudy tiredness filters through my mind.

I try to fight it, I blink rapidly, work my mouth silently, but the darkness is creeping in and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

Garosh's face appears above me, for a moment, and I can't understand what he's saying. I'm so scared.

I close my eyes.

* * *

"Ultha finally got round to paying you this morning. It's not as much as it should have been, but after the damages and the loss of customers since the shooting it's the best he can do."

I'm not dead, and the sense of relief is the most profound feeling I think I've ever felt.

I hear a rumbling sigh. "I still can't find either of the Uteerian brothers, and C-Sec don't give a shit about another shooting in the lower wards. But don't you worry Ana, I'll get those two, if it's the last thing I do."

I think this is the most I've ever heard Garosh talk at once.

"D-" I try to speak, tell him it's ok and not worry, I don't blame him, but my throat is raw and dry. I try to fight it but the cough is involuntary, and causes spasms of pain to radiate from my hip. A lone tear slides down my temple.

"Here," Garosh's voice comes from beside me, full of unmistakeable relief, and I feel a cool rim of glass placed against my lips. A second later cool, sterilised water is tipped forward, and I happily let it trickle into my mouth, softening the scratching dryness and caressing a cracked lip.

"Thanks," I whisper, using as little voice as possible, wary of another coughing fit.

"How much d-" I stop and take a breath, waiting for the spike of irritation in my throat to pass. "Did Ultha pay?" Garosh allows me another sip of water.

"85,000 credits. It's not the 150,000 you were hoping for, but it's the best he can do with how the club has lost revenue, and it still covers your costs and then some," Garosh informs me.

By my calculations that means I have around 250,000 credits to play with. "Help me sit up." Garosh provides a hand as I slowly and painfully pull myself up into a somewhat sitting position; unfortunately remote control elevator beds aren't available here, wherever here is.

"Where are we? And how long have I been out?" I ask. The room looks like any hospital room, clean white walls, floor and ceiling, cupboards for supplies, holographic nature scenery in place of any windows.

"It's been three days since you were shot. And we're at Jenus Community Hospital, a dozen wards up from the Ultha; Breg and I have split the cost of the care, so don't worry about it," he hurriedly adds on, obviously having seen my look of consternation.

Unlike the good old UK back in my home dimension, the galaxy never really took to free healthcare. This isn't as big a problem as it could be because the cost of healthcare is nowhere near what it used to be back on Earth, but it still adds up to some substantial bills if you get seriously hurt.

Silence settles over us for a time, until Garosh sighs and gets up, the chair he was on squealing slightly as the Krogan's weight is lifted from it. "So what are you going to do now?" He asks, a serious edge to his voice.

I'm confused by the question. "What do you mean? I'll be out of here and doing gigs again in no time," I say, a questioning lilt to my voice; modern translators are capable of translating even the varying verbal intonations most species use to convey context without trouble.

He huffs. "I should have known. That's good Ana, so long as you don't let this get to you. I'll see you later." He begins walking out the door.

"Wait. What are you going to do?" I ask in return, worry suddenly wrapping a cold tendril around my stomach.

"What do you think? I'm gonna find the Uteerian brothers and kill them." And with that he leaves.

I sit back, hissing at the flare of pain from the motion, ideas and plans going through my head.

* * *

"Ma'am? You have a visitor," my surprisingly Human nurse says as she pokes her head in, a blond bob cut and honey brown eyes disappearing from the open door as the guest is allowed in.

"Long time no see," comes from the man as he enters the room, a cultured American accent swelling into the room.

It takes me a moment to recognise the pale skin and short brown hair with a touch of grey at the sides, a navy pinstripe suit accentuating the subtly expensive air around the man. Walter Marks removes his ray-bans, heavily lidded, deep set, baby blue eyes staring from behind them.

"Mr Marks!" I exclaim in surprise; I had never expected to see the kind man that gave me a chit for a drink again; the sense I had gotten at the time, as I do now, is that the man is only visiting the lower wards.

"Ms Volkov, how are you? I was in the area when I heard your name being mentioned, and came to visit as soon as I found out where you were," he says kindly, soft smile on his face.

"Thank you, I appreciate it. I'm doing much better now thankfully, they only need to keep me for another day to make sure the stitches are secure, and then I'm free to go," I say happily; the wound had been shut with a special organic glue and medigel, but stitches are still used to make sure the wound stays closed while the glue sets.

"That's good, I'm glad," he says, though there's a troubled note in his voice.

"What's wrong?" I ask, sitting up as he sits on the chair next to my bed. He rests his elbows on his knees and sighs heavily.

"I'm just worried, this part of the Citadel isn't exactly safe, and I can't imagine you won't be back to your concerts the moment you're able," he says heavily, with a wry smirk.

"Well yeah," I reply, "but I can't let a couple of nutter Turians with a grudge get me down, and besides, I'll be ready for them next time," I say confidently.

"... you know, I may be able to help with that," Walter says cautiously, obviously not wishing to impose; he did just kind of show up out of nowhere.

"How so?" I ask curiously.

"Well, I'm actually the owner of a small security company, On The Mark Solutions, and, well, I could perhaps provide a service, in the future," he offers hesitantly.

I hesitate in responding. "I- it's not that I don't trust you, Mr Ma- Walter, but, well, I had my own ideas for security in the future, which I would prefer to try first, you understand?" I ask, grudging regret at turning him down.

I feel like perhaps I made the right decision, however, when I catch a flash of something... dark pass across his features, before he sighs again and gets up.

"I understand completely Ms Volkov. Here, take my card, give me a call if you change your mind. Get well soon," he remarks, and then quick as a flash, before I can reply, he's out the door and gone.

"That was odd," I remark to the empty room.

* * *

"I'm so glad you're okay," Kiellan sobs as she hugs me tightly.

"Me too. How's everything been while I've been in the hospital?" I ask as I go over to my bunk to make sure everything is where I left it, once I've extracted myself from the Asari's grip that is.

"Same as ever really, though better now that you're back," Kiellan says emotionally. It's nice to know she missed me so much, though to be honest I haven't really spoken to her much recently.

"Any new additions to the shelter?" I ask, changing clothes behind my bed screen; Garosh, being male, hadn't thought to bring me a fresh set of clothes while I was indisposed.

"A young Asari, just became a matron, name of Safeda, keeps to herself mostly," Kiellan informs me, pointing out the Asari in question. She was quite tall, nearly as tall as me, and lithe, much more like the Asari you see in the games, with white flecked tattoos on her face.

While the shelter gets a couple of dozen people a week come and go, those that stay for more than three days 'join' the shelter, and then once they've stayed long enough they get a permanent bed in exchange for using whatever income they can spare for food for the group.

"You seen Garosh anywhere?" I ask after spending a moment looking round the shelter for my friend.

"Not really, he's been back a couple of times, but I haven't seen him since he came by to announce that you were awake."

"Thanks Kiellan," I say, fully dressed and ready to go.

"You sure you should be going anywhere? I doubt you're fully healed yet," Kiellan says doubtfully, hand on my elbow.

"I'm fine," I say dismissively; the painkillers are doing their job and the stitches and glue are completely secure and packed under some gauze.

"What if those Turian bastards show up again?" She says worriedly. Despite what happened, I can't help but smirk.

"If they poke even a toe into the water, trust me, Garosh is circling," I state confidently. Kiellan's worry appears to be alleviated, so with a smile I leave for a very specific shop.

I'm not entirely sure what Garosh is doing to try and track down the Uteerians, but I imagine it involves a few frightened underworld contacts and a spreading of the word that Garosh is looking for them.

I also imagine that the two Turians are laying low with the knowledge that a Krogan is out to get them; it's the smart thing to do.

* * *

Talisan Trade is an oddity in that it's not a specialty store, as most places on the Citadel are thanks to the set amount of space and thus inability to expand, but the woman that runs it is the reliable sort, if somewhat infamous around the lower wards as a crafty haggler.

She can get anything for anyone, and the shop floor is packed with the oddest assortment of items, from weapons and armour, to hairbrushes and furniture.

It is also the store from which Garosh got me my omnitool, as well as my pistol and shield. I walk straight up to the teller, who looks a little nervous at my aggressive entrance; the only other customer hears the door bang, looks up, and then quietly sidles out of the shop; I've never seen an Asari sidle before.

"What can I help you with?" A Salarian asks, wringing his hands. The guy is a light yellowish colour and kind of short.

"I need to talk Mirris Talisan, now."

"Ah, well, you see, Miss Talisan is quite busy, and I don't think you've called ahead to ask her to make time," he says nervously, speech speeding up as I level my best glare at him. To be honest, he's a little more scared than you'd expect, but then if my best friend has been going round promising death to whoever hurt me, it makes some sense.

I slap my left hand on the countertop. "Well, maybe she has time for 200,000 credits?" I ask pointedly, trying, and failing I'm sure, to raise a single eyebrow.

The Salarian's eyes bug out (even more than normal), and he quickly changes his tune. "Well why didn't you say so? Just let me grab her for you." He disappears out back, leaving me tapping the seconds away as I wait.

"Well well, if it isn't the little musical monkey with the overgrown lizard hovering over her shoulder all hours of the day," says the Turian woman as she emerges from the back, sauntering towards me with arrogance.

Oddly for a Turian Talisan is covered in jewellery, gold bands on every finger, polished bronze discs hanging from her neck and many tiny crystals, mostly diamonds and sapphires dangling from silver chains wrapped around and pierced through her short fringe.

"Seriously? That's the best you can do?" I ask incredulously; as insults went, it wasn't very inspired, or insulting.

"Of course not darling, but you are a prospective customer; it wouldn't do to give too much away now, would it?" A fanged grin follows, and I can't help but snort in derision at her attempt at psychological warfare.

"Let's just cut the crap. I need Rosenkov Heavy Titan V armour for a Krogan, Armax Predator M V armour for a Turian, two Ariake Tsunami V ARs, two Ariake Raikou IV pistols, and the strongest stand alone personal shield you can find."

I lay my cards out completely on the table; I'm not in the mood to fuck around, and either Mirris can get me the stuff, or she can't. It's going to eat up nearly all of the money I've made so far, but money means nothing if I'm not alive to spend it.

My plan is to 'employ,' Garosh and Jeerfan as bodyguards during the concerts. I trust the two of them with my life, plus they're the only two out of my friends with any actual combat experience. Hopefully the best armour and weapons I can afford will allow them to fuck the Uteerian brothers up.

Mirris hums, writing down a few things on her omnitool, which is shaded so I can't read the holographic interface from this side of the omnitool; smart.

"... these things are not easy to come by, but I can do it. However, it will take a week or so, and it will be costly."

"How much?" I ask. As long as I can afford it, I'm willing to pay, seeing as my friends, and more importantly my life, are worth more than some number on an omnitool.

"264,00 credits," she says, and I feel righteous indignation flare up; the total cost of the things I asked for can't come to more than 185,000 credits, plus the cost of actually getting these things, which is probably about 15,000 credits, so she's trying to skim 64,000 credits off of me.

"210,000 credits," I reply curtly, staring her down. She sneers at me in return.

"260,000," she says, saying it as if my offer were an insult.

"212,000," I offer back, in the spirit of making another pointless offer. I can tell she knows that I know how much I should be spending, as her glare increases in intensity.

"Fine, 220,000 credits," she offers grudgingly, knowing that it's a more fair price and annoyed that she couldn't con me.

"Deal," I smirk, shaking her hand, making sure to squeeze harder than she can. "I'll be back in a week," I say, walking out of the shop before she can try to demand I put down a deposit.

Talisan may be a bitch and a con artist, but she's not exactly dangerous. Her safety comes from the fact that she's useful to just about everyone, on both sides of the law, since she can get just about anything for anyone.

Though I have no idea how she does it, to be honest.

With that task done, I set off to go and see Ultha, both to thank him for the payment and the hospital bills, and to apologise to him for the failure of the night.

However, a couple of minutes into the walk to the nearest rapid transit and I start to feel tired, and my hip starts to ache. The painkillers are wearing off and I've apparently used up all of my energy for today.

Swearing under my breath at being so infirm, I instead make my way back to the shelter, where I can sleep off the pain, since I've got another couple of hours before I can take more painkillers.

I'll go and see Ultha tomorrow.

* * *

"Heya Breg," I say to the Batarian. I can't help but feel a flash of fear as Breg turns to me from the window in his office, but I ruthlessly squash the feeling; I can't afford to be afraid of Batarians.

"Volkov. To what do I owe the pleasure?" H asks, settling himself tiredly into his much more comfortable looking chair behind the desk that is covered in paperwork, holographic screens and little odds and ends.

"I want to play again," I say boldly, rather than beating around the bush; I've found that flowery language and metaphorical statements and the like are better used with Asari and Humans, where Turians, Salarians and Batarians prefer it when you get straight to the point.

"Tch, you've got guts, I'll give you that, Human. I'll only consider it if you can promise it won't happen again; I lost a lot of money thanks to the shooting," he laments.

"Promise it won't happen again? Impossible, but if it helps I'll have some security from now on," I inform him.

"You have a point, but a bit of security doesn't exactly ease my concerns; a shooting is a shooting, and those tend to deter customers," he sneers, though he makes a good point. I think about how I can get him on side; I need to start making money again, and soon.

Unless I bring him the heads of the Uteerians (not literally of course, that would be fucking gross), Breg isn't going to feel comfortable letting me play at his club again knowing that I'm a target.

Luckily Kerren has already agreed to let me start up again. I'll have to leave Ultha with his paranoia for now.

* * *

"Garosh, come back to the shelter, you've been looking for the Uteerians for three days straight; it's not healthy!" I exclaim to my omnitool. Garosh hadn't been back to even sleep since before I went to see Breg.

"I'm not going to stop until those fucking Turians are dead," he growls, obviously still seething mad. It warms my heart to know he cares so much about me, but I'm not gonna let him get himself killed because he's not at the top of his game.

"I'm not asking you to stop, just to come back to the shelter and get some sleep; you're no good to anyone if you can't see straight cus you're so tired," I say sternly, trying to sound more like a concerned friend and not like my mother.

Don't get me wrong, I love my mother, but good god she could guilt trip the hind legs off a donkey.

"No need to worry, I've gone longer without sleep before," he says dismissively, and I feel my heart rate speed up. I grit my teeth around my next words.

"Oh yeah when? And even if you have gone longer it doesn't mean you're in any condition to keep going right now. Get your fucking crest back here for some food and rest or I'll come and _drag_ you back, capisce?"

"You can't do that, you're still not fully healed! What if something happens?" There, that got his attention.

"Well then you better get your scaly arse back here before I decide to leave, hadn't you?" I don't give him a chance to reply, shutting off the call and closing my omnitool.

"That was a bit harsh, wasn't it?" Kiellan asks, handing me a plate of Asari food, a kind of grain that's wrapped in crunchy leaves, sort of like onigiri, but sweeter, as I've learned most Asari food is.

Thanks to their entire race being composed of biotics, and there being a lot of them thanks to their proclivity for sex and long life spans, most Asari food is very sweet, and high in carbohydrates.

"Probably, but he'll get over it; I'd rather hurt his feelings and make sure he's safe and rested than let him do what he wants when it isn't good for him. I should probably check up on Jeerfan too now that I think about it," I think out loud.

"What about Kilat and Alrova?" Kiellan asks.

"Oh they're fine, Alrova is too smart to try anything stupid and Kilat is too whipped for Alrova to let him do anything stupid," I remark, to Kiellan laughing out loud and nearly spraying me with food.

"What about that girl Jeerfan hired a few months back, Tanya was it? I thought Jeerfan and her got along quite well, why isn't she keeping him in line?" Kiellan asks.

"It's Taryn actually, and I don't know to be honest with you, I've never seen them together outside of work, and, well, let's just say I don't think Jeerfan is ready for any kind of relationship at the moment," I say evasively; I'm not going to just go talking about Jeerfan's problems in public.

"Ah well, at least him and Garosh have you to keep them in line," Kiellan comments, though I get the usual cold, sinking feeling in my gut at the statement. The feeling of responsibility, of fear, knowing what I do, hovers ever present in the back of my mind.

Because what I'm hearing is more than keeping them in line, it's my job to keep them _alive_.

* * *

"Hey Jeerfan, meet me at the carport outside your apartment in fifteen minutes."

"Huh? Why-" I hang up. Mirris Talisan walks over, omnitool out and ready to receive payment.

"Getting what you wanted was not easy Volkov, but it's done. That'll be 230,000 credits, like we agreed," she says with a sanguine air. I hold back the snort at the poor attempt to wring a little more money out of me.

"Here you go," I say, transferring the 220,000 credits we had actually agreed upon, and grinning smugly when her superior smirk at thinking she'd done me over slipped right off her face.

She snarls at me, Turian fangs flashing in the light. "Fine, take your things and leave Volkov, and I better not see your face around here for a good long while."

"Gladly," I mutter, not even bothering to fire back at her; she's not really worth the effort to play word games with.

With more effort than I care to admit I load up the crates containing the armour and weapons I had ordered (I had checked to make sure it was all there of course, right in front of Talisan, just to piss her off) into the car I had rented.

Before I drive off, I make another couple of calls.

"Garosh? Good thanks. Yeah. Yeah I need you to go to Jeerfan's, I'll see you there in ten minutes." Once again I hang up before anything more can be said, just to add to the surprise, since none of the others are aware of what I've bought.

"Kilat! Are you and Alrova free? Um, probably best to drop him off with Kiellan if you could, I need you to get to Jeerfan's in about ten minutes. You'll see when you get there. Okay, bye."

With that I get into the car and put in a destination (seeing as I don't have a driving or piloting license in this universe, I have to use the automated functions), and cruise over to Jeerfan's apartment, the car settling down in the parking lot just round the corner from his apartment.

"Ana! What's this all about then? And why did you rent a car to get here, it's not that long a walk?" Jeerfan asks, obviously slightly worried since this is somewhat out of the norm.

I smile brightly. "Nothing to worry about Shikor, just help me bring it all up," I say as I get out and pop the boot open (and yes, it's a boot, not a trunk, just like it's a bonnet, not a hood; the Americanisation of modern humanity is real).

His eyes widen at the sight of the large metal cases carrying everything, but he dutifully helps me up to his apartment. The elevator is incredibly slow, as I learned when I first visited, but it's only now, carrying heavy stuff, that I truly appreciate fast elevators.

Five minutes later and we've got everything arrayed in the living room ready to be opened, Jeerfan huffing from the exertion behind me since he's done nothing but sit on his arse all day for the last two years.

"I'm guessing the others will be showing up in a minute?" He asks. A buzzing sound comes a moment later.

"Speak of the devil," I mutter, pressing the button that lets the others into the apartment.

Garosh, Kilat and Alrova shuffle into the apartment a minute later.

"So, what's this all about?" Garosh rumbles, somewhat annoyed at being kept in the dark. I can't help grinning like a loon.

"Well, I've done a little buying. Everything in these crates is for you guys," I say proudly, turning to the first two, which happen to also be the smaller two. Opening them, I pull out the two Raikou IV pistols and hand them out to Kilat and Alrova.

"It's not much, but these are going to pack a heck of a lot more of a punch than the civilian crap we were using when Lojiin was a problem," I say, letting the two Drell admire the weapons.

They're honestly speechless, so I take the time to open up the next two cases, these being the middle sized ones.

"And for you guys, two Tsunami V assault rifles; nothing the Uteerians are going to have will stand up to even a few shots from these," I say, handing the two the ARs, and grinning when both of them of begin to inspect the weapons with obviously experienced hands and eyes.

"Bloody hell Ana, that's over 50,000 credits, easy! You didn't have to spend this much on us," Jeerfan exclaims.

"Okay then give it back," I say to him, holding out a hand. He recoils slightly, holding the gun to his torso protectively.

"That's what I thought," I laugh, amused by Jeerfan's antics as always.

"Finally, also for you two, Garosh, Jeerfan, are these," I say, opening the crates but not taking out the armours.

"For Garosh, a set of Rosenkov Heavy Titan V armour, and for Jeerfan, a set of Armax Predator M V armour," I announce, letting the two look at the packed armours with slight awe.

It's not surprising since I've spent more than most people's yearly incomes on just these armour and weapons, almost completely clearing out my bank account in the process.

After a moment, Garosh begins chuckling, then laughing, which evolves into full on stomach clutching humour.

"Ah, I should have guessed Ana, I should have guessed. You want Jeerfan and I to act as security, and then bait out the Uteerians with more concerts so that we can take them out once and for all; it wouldn't be illegal to kill them if it's in self defence, would it?"

"Yep, that's the plan, assuming you two are amenable to it?" I ask tentatively, since I'm essentially asking the two of them to risk their lives to protect me, armour and weapons notwithstanding.

"Amenable? Hell yeah I'm up for it; those fuckers aren't going to know what hit them!" Jeerfan cheers.

"The question is," says Alrova over the noise, "are you okay with being the bait, Anastasia?" She looks at me seriously, quieting the others down too.

Don't get me wrong, the thought of being targeted by the Turians makes me break out in cold sweat, but...

"That's what I have this for," I say, lifting my shirt to show the heavy duty strap around my waist and the thick pad resting in the small of my back.

"The hell is that?" Garosh asks, poking the device with a large stubby finger.

"This," I say with a hint of awe myself, because bitch though she is, damn did Talisan come through for me, "is a ripped out and rewired, standalone shield generator from a set of Kassa Fabrication Colossus VI light armour."

Impressed mutters pass around my friends, since Kassa Fabrication's Colossus armour is already considered the best freely available to buy armour in the galaxy. There are better armours out there, spectre gear, the stuff reserved for the different races' special operatives and the like, but the Colossus is the best around for the common people that can afford it.

"Well damn, what do you need us for?" Jeerfan jokes, though I can see the tension in his and the other's shoulders lessen dramatically, seeing as I'll be about as safe as I can get without wearing armour out onto the stage.

I could, but I don't really have enough money left, plus it would be hot and uncomfortable, not to mention difficult to move properly or press buttons since I've never worn armour in my life, let alone super advanced power armour.

"So," I say with a toothy grin, rubbing my hands together, "who's ready to fuck up some Turians?"


	5. Chapter 5

Lightning Blades

AN: Thanks again for the reviews, I'm just glad that people like what I write; it's hard to judge the quality of the writing from the inside. Also, once again, sorry about the immense gap between chapters, this is a difficult story to write.

* * *

I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It's been three weeks since I started performing at the Yoyax again, and in that time neither of the Uteerian brothers have poked a spur into the open. Garosh and Jeerfan are starting to get tired, spending late nights guarding me and then continuing at the warehouse in the morning.

It's putting them on edge, the tiredness, the itchy trigger fingers, and the lack of any conclusion to this absurd vendetta that the brothers have against me wearing them down.

The first time they attacked me I passed it off as a couple of drunken Turians being stupid, as much as it scared me. The second time, it could have been some petty revenge for making them run away, trying to repair their damaged pride or something.

But for it to happen a third time?

Once is bad luck, twice is coincidence, three times is a pattern.

For some reason, Mylo and Benner are attacking me, _targeting_ me specifically; considering I didn't exist in this universe a year ago, I can't even begin to fathom why that is.

"We're not doing it Ana, we can keep going," Jeerfan insists, his protestation punctuated by a momentary pitch lowering of his secondary vocalisations, the Turian version of a yawn.

Turians actually have an explanation for why they have such a reaction, unlike Humans, that being that Palaven has a weak magnetosphere and thus quite a bit of radiation gets through the atmosphere; thanks to the lack of metallic plates on their throats, the vocal chords would get damaged first if they spent too long in the sun.

Thus, a lowering in the pitch is a biological warning that it's time to head out of the sun, and became synonymous with going to sleep, and eventually signified tiredness.

"And I'm saying that if you do then I might as well not have security cus you'll both be too tired to shoot straight; the two of you taking shifts on who guards me is the best compromise between your health and my health," I explain for what feels like the thousandth time.

Just as it looks like Jeerfan is about to protest again, Garosh makes his first contribution to the discussion. "She's right Shikor, one of us on top of our game is better protection than both of us if we're dead on our feet."

Jeerfan looks betrayed for a moment, but eventually sighs and gives in. "Okay then, if you both think it's for the best," he allows.

We work out a schedule, where they alternate who guards me each evening; seeing as I don't do Sunday nights, it's the fairest way for us to do it. With three late nights and four full nights sleep a week, I won't have to worry about either of them getting hurt.

"Alright then, Garosh will take tonight's seeing as he's a Krogan, so, you know, he's more badarse than you," I tease Jeerfan, though the point of this conversation is emphasised when he barely has the energy to look offended.

* * *

Thanks to my patronage, the Yoyax was slowly but surely becoming a more reputable establishment as money flowed in, though 'reputable' in the lower wards wasn't really saying much.

Tonight seemed to have attracted a higher concentration of disreputable than usual, as even while I was performing I could see little plastic bags with white powder exchanging hands, as well as other substances that I didn't recognise.

I always take a fifteen minute break at around 10pm, so I can have a drink and clean up a little, since it's always very hot on stage with all the lights, and like any good Englishwoman anything above room temperature is enough to make me sweat buckets.

I don't let anyone behind the stage while I'm performing save for Kerren's sound technician and Jeerfan or Garosh, because I know that there are plenty of people out there that would be happy to offer me something for free.

I haven't taken any drugs since I was seventeen; going cold turkey was the absolute most difficult thing I have ever done. It's like an itch that you can't scratch inside your brain while your stomach heaves and everything aches and sweats and itches and lights are too loud and sounds are too bright-

I take a deep breath. Even the memory of that time makes me feel weak and shaky. I clench my hand hard, willing the shaking to stop.

I don't want to have to fight the temptation were someone to offer me anything, to ignore that powerful little voice saying _go on, go on, just once, once won't hurt, do it, do it..._

"I want some more damn it!" I hear from somewhere in the club. Not the dance floor, too far away for that, one of the private booths then.

I make my way to the edge of the stage and peak round the scaffolding to see some Human, a tall, thin, dark skinned guy, get shoved back by a Batarian standing menacingly outside the screen covering the entrance to the booth. Obviously he's the bouncer for whoever has hired the booth.

"You're done Jamie, fuck off," the Batarian says, shoving 'Jamie' back again. Jamie lands on his arse, and that's when things get weird.

"I said I want MORE!" He screams, rage being fuelled by whatever's in his system. Jamie becomes enveloped by a slight blue glow and waves an arm, and then the Batarian is flying sideways from the biotic attack.

The screen is torn from its brackets, revealing the booth and I can feel my stomach drop. Sitting on a table next to a Human in a white suit, an Italian looking guy with waxed dark hair and near black eyes, is a large glass canister filled with what looks like red sand.

Garosh steps up next to me. "I think tonight's performance is cancelled," he rumbles, watching the proceedings with a suspicious air. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

We begin to make our way out as surreptitiously as possible, which is easier than first thought as everyone's attention is taken up by the spectacle Jamie is still making. The guy is obviously high as a kite, giggling at the blue glow covering his arm, and then he starts walking to the booth.

The Batarian comes out of nowhere and throws a powerful right into Jamie's face, sending him stumbling into the watching crowd. Several people are thrown to the floor, and I freeze in surprise as the sudden lack of standing people in that area reveals one of the Uteerian brothers.

He too appears stunned, having not expected his position to be revealed, apparently. Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second, and then Garosh is shooting.

"Go Ana, out the back, I'll cover you," he growls, shooting only when he gets a clear shot. Flashes of blue litter my vision though as, I think it's Mylo, fires indiscriminately into the crowd. Garosh is backing up as he fires, while I carefully make my way to the rear exit.

Said door crashes open to reveal Benner, eyes flashing behind white clan markings. "Fuck! Garosh, back door is off limits, we've gotta get to the offices, there's another way out there," I shout, sprinting towards the private booths as the door to the offices is behind them.

Both Uteerians are still shooting, though Garosh is returning fire as more people exit the building and the lines of fire become clearer.

I stumble and cough as something explodes in a cloud of red, which I stagger out of a moment later. I glance behind me to see something familiar from the games I used to play; a cloud of red dust from an exploded canister.

I feel a flutter of panic, hoping I didn't breathe in too much of the most iconic drug of the entire series; Red Sand.

Garosh emerges from the cloud behind me. "Go!" He coughs, firing through the cloud. We make it out of the building, but keep running, towards Jeerfan's place since if the Uteerians catch up with us, then it's more defendable than the shelter or Kilat and Alrova's small apartment.

We're halfway there when I feel an incredibly out of place urge to giggle. I blink and everything seems a little more red than usual. I laugh and happiness wells and swells because everything is swell and we made it out because we're fucking awesome!

"Ana? What's wrong?" I turn to see my dinosaur, and I feel even happier. He's such a great friend!

"You're such a great friend!" Laughter bubbles and squeaks because I like bubble and squeak, it fits breakfast like a glove.

"Ana! Come back!"

I should buy some gloves, I don't have any, they're cool because they have the word love in them, and if you love gloves- ha, love gloves- then you can hide the cuts on your knuckles!

"Gotcha!"

Garosh's arms wrap around me, all snug and warm. I giggle. "Like a cocoon!" I crow, how apt, crow, carrion crows, feasting on the dead because the Reapers are coming and we're all... going... to die...

The high disappears as quickly as it came, the euphoria leaving gaping sadness in its wake, my limbs feel weak, and tiredness pervades everything. Realisation hits me and I sob into Garosh's shoulder, because coming down from a high always feels beyond awful.

Especially such a fast burning, powerful high like that.

"Fuck me," I sigh into Garosh's shoulder as the sobs subside.

"I'm not into Humans," Garosh comments, and I snort involuntarily as I try not to laugh.

"You okay now?"

No. "Yeah, I'm good," I say, because no one ever believes you if you just say 'I'm fine.' "Let's just get back to the shelter, I need some shut eye."

* * *

I wake up sweating. I swore I'd never touch another drug, but that fucking Turian had to shoot that fucking canister just as I was running past it.

It's not withdrawal, it's just the memory, but it's enough to make me toss and turn in bed, make me feel sick and shaky, pull and pluck half remembered fragments from various highs to the fore.

I rub my eyes in frustration, trying to blank out the thoughts and get some sleep, or at least some rest, but my mind whirs a mile a minute, and with a frustrated sigh I decide to just get up.

I raise my arm to see that it's 6am. Since I'm up I make my way into the kitchen to find the volunteers already cooking for the homeless that make up the shelter. I begin helping, slotting seamlessly into the flow.

My mum used to use leftovers, things like chickens and ham shanks, to make soup and broth for breakfast the next morning; I used to help, before I started getting home at eight o' clock in the morning barely able to remember the night before.

Sometime later Garosh, Kilat and I sit together quietly, slowly eating the soup that makes up the usual breakfast fair at the shelter. I feel tense, and tired.

My arm vibrates with the usual tell of an incoming message, a short _bzz-bzz_ that shakes me out of the silence. The message is from Walter Marks.

"How the fuck did he get my contact details?" I wonder out loud, prompting interest from my two companions. I never gave him a way to call me.

"Well open it, see what it says," Kiellan says, leaning right over my shoulder.

 _Dear Ms Volkov,_

 _Subtlety is not your strong suit, is it?_

 _So, this is a formal message, informing you that you have three days to pay me 50,000 credits. Failure to do so will result in the little Drell losing something for every day past the deadline._

 _I think I will start with an eye._

 _Regards,_

 _Walter Marks_

 _On The Mark Solutions Ltd._

I take a slow, deep, breath through my nose. I focus on the feeling of air filling my lungs, intercostal muscles expanding and contracting, diaphragm flexing, and then the reverse as air is expelled through my mouth, relieving my lungs of the waste carbon dioxide from my blood.

I have to think this through for a moment, because I thought Walter was a nice guy, so why would he send such a horrible email? Why would he kidnap Jinta and ask for money, out of nowhere?

Unless it's not out of nowhere; subtlety isn't my strong suit? What does that mean? When would he have had cause to be subtle? I last spoke to him in the hospital after I got shot, and he offered to-

 _To make sure it wouldn't happen again._

The bastard is working with the Uteerians! He wouldn't be able to guarantee he could stop the Turians from attacking me unless he _ordered the Uteerians to stop!_

"Ana?" Garosh asks hesitantly.

"I'm going to kill him."

Garosh nods, likely having gone through the same thought process as I just have. "We don't know where he is; I couldn't find the Uteerians with my contacts."

"He's left a trail," I say, indicating the still open message hovering tauntingly above my arm. "We just need someone who can follow it; how much do you think Farrah and Hudo will charge for this?"

Garosh looks at me like I'm an idiot. "What the hell makes you think a couple of programmers will be able to hack into Citadel extranet security and trace a damn message?"

I scoff. "Please, you think Hudo got that scar on his neck from a random thug? I bet he was sniffing around where he shouldn't and got clocked; random thugs don't tend to slit throats. And Farrah? A Quarian that didn't return to the fleet and managed to make somewhat of a name as a programmer instead of an engineer? What makes you think they wouldn't be able to?"

"Well when you put it like that..." Garosh mumbles sheepishly. "Think you can afford them? You can't have much left can you?"

"Well, there's only one way to find out."

* * *

"Ana? It's good to hear from you, how's the program?" Comes Farrah's modulated voice from my omnitool, much too chirpy for my own mood.

"Yeah, it's good thanks, I've got a few gigs already," I say weakly, barely able to stop myself from demanding Farrah do this for me. Small talk feels like such an obstacle at the moment. "Listen, I need a favour, if you can?"

"Favour? As in something done for free? Well, it depends on the favour in question, I do like you Ana," Farrah replies, I can almost hear her leaning back in her chair.

"I need you to track someone down for me using a message sent from their omnitool to mine," I inform her, keeping my voice clear of any pleading.

"I- why would you come to me for this? Hudo and I are just a couple of programmers-" I cut Farrah off.

"Look, I don't care about your past, Farrah. The guy I want you to track has kidnapped my friends' kid and is threatening to fuck him up if I don't pay him 50,000 credits in the next seventy two hours. I need you to track him down before then so I can shove his own eyes up his arse, alright? Can you do that for me?"

I'm breathing heavily after my little spiel, the anger sitting heavy in my chest and stealing my breath, flushing my cheeks red.

There's silence over the line for a moment. "Alright Ana, I can do that, spirits know that I'm not heartless, but this could be dangerous for me, you understand? A Quarian breaking Citadel law to find a Human? You owe me."

"Of course, whatever you need," I reply, quite willing to do just about anything for this; Jinta's life is on the line here. I can't not do everything in my power, little as that may be for now.

"Ok then, I'll need remote access to your omnitool, I'll send you a message with the code phrase 'eyes in arses,' just hit the link and I can take over from there," Farrah tells me, drawing a reluctant laugh at her choice of password.

"Sure thing," I hang up and a moment later my tool buzzes, signalling Farrah's message has arrived. I open it to the phrase 'eyes in arses,' printed boldly, below which is an extranet link.

I tap it, and suddenly I'm not the one in control of my omnitool. It swipes to my messages and opens Walter's message, stilling for a moment, presumably in shock at the sheer callousness of the message.

A program runs a moment later, doing things that I honestly can't even begin to understand. Everything minimizes, collapsing into little tabs along the bottom of the holographic screen, and a message appears, from Farrah.

 _Will probably take a few hours, maybe more depending on how well hidden this guy is. Let me know when you get the scum._ _:)_

I breathe a sigh of relief, glad that Farrah could and would do it, and glad that I'd clocked her right; Quarians outside the fleet were rare, especially ones that weren't enslaved, stuck without money, or hired as engineers.

My omnitool buzzes, Alrova's caller ID popping up.

"Ana? Oh Ana, Jinta, they've- I don't know what to do, my baby, my poor baby," Alrova cries hysterically. The line cuts off a moment later and then Kilat is calling instead.

"Ana?"

"Hey Kilat," I say thickly, because what can I say? Sorry that a guy I'd spoken to turned out to be trying to extort me for money and I didn't see the (nigh non-existent) signs and now your son has been kidnapped and might be tortured to get me to comply?

That would go over great, I'm sure.

"They left a note, said that it's your fault. What's going on?" Inflections don't come through as well with Drell, despite how good the translators are, but I can hear the dread in my friend's voice.

"Walter Marks, he wants to profit off my hard work, turns out he 'employs' the Uteerians to rough people up and then stops them in return for payment, calls it protection. I've got just under three days to give him 50,000 credits."

Kilat is silent for a moment. "You gonna pay him?"

"In lead," I reply calmly, too angry to think about the fact that I'm essentially in the beginning stages of pre-meditated murder.

"Why would you give him a toxic metal instead of shooting him?" Kilat asks confusedly, and I can't help but facepalm at my use of 21st Century vernacular.

"It's an old expression, from when Human guns had lead in the bullets, so making someone 'eat lead' or saying you're gonna pay them in lead means you're gonna shoot 'em, got it?"

"Ohhhh, ok."

"You okay Kilat? You sound... eerily calm," I say, slightly disturbed by my friend's tone.

"Oh I'm fine, I just found out that I've got a large amount of lead to deliver." He hangs up, and I bark a short laugh, glad to know that Kilat has my back.

* * *

The hours pass torturously, knowing that every moment is precious. I can't help but compare myself to how I was when I first arrived in the Mass Effect universe, so desperate to avoid danger.

Now, here I am waiting for a location on a target so I can plan an assault and eventually execute someone; I'm not entirely sure how I feel about the idea of murdering someone in cold blood.

However, the idea of eliminating a threat to my friends and I, of saving Jinta, ignites a roar of righteous determination in my chest. I feel my heart begin to beat faster, not in fear but _anticipation._

It's taken a long time, and the situation might be all kinds of fucked up, but I think I might finally be starting to accept my place in this universe. Because it is a dangerous place, and it's only going to get worse, so I have to adapt.

Despite how dangerous this will be, a couple of thugs trying to extort me for money is at the bottom of the ladder when it comes to the kinds of people I might end up dealing with.

*Ding*

Kilat, Alrova, Jeerfan, Garosh and Kiellan all look up at the noise, situated as we all are in Jeerfan's apartment. The program is done.

"6 levels down, Imrone Complex, top three floors belong to On the Mark Solutions, based on comm traffic in the area Farrah reckons they're holding Jinta on the top floor. Ideas?"

Everyone seems to think for a moment, which is good, a little thought goes a long way. Garosh grunts after a moment. "Go in through the roof, we can take a car, and it means we don't have to go through the first two floors that these fuckers own."

Jeerfan shakes his head. "Two-dimensional thinking, it would work, but if they think we're coming then they would expect us to come from the ground or the roof. If they're in an apartment building then we can use a car to get in through one of the top story windows."

I nod my head; that sounds good. "All of us coming in through one window will take time, we take two cars, two teams of two, the first team enters on the lower floor, makes some noise, draws any security, and _then_ the second team goes through the upper windows more quietly to get Jinta out."

Garosh hums. "We only have enough weapons good enough for four of us to go; who's going to be left behind?" The silence is charged, but Alrova sighs before anyone can say anything.

"I will. I-I'm in no state to..." she gets up and kneels at my feet, grasping one of my hands. "Please, _please_ bring my baby back to me, Ana." I swallow thickly, stunned at the emotion and trust Alrova is showing.

"Of course." Alrova nods and retreats back to the couch, where Kilat hugs her as she sobs into his shoulder. "So, what are the teams?"

"Kilat and I should get Jinta, we'll be stealthier than you and Garosh," Jeerfan says quietly, his determination to help palpable.

"Sounds like a plan," I announce once it seems like no one has anything more to add. "Let's gear up and move out!"

* * *

Worry and anticipation swirl and mix within my stomach, but there's something comforting about having an armed and armoured walking tank/lizard jumping into a hot zone with you. The car rumbles as it flies us towards the Imrone Complex.

"Ok, been a while since I've done this, is this working? Hello? I better not be talking to myself," I hear Jeerfan say through my omnitool.

"Yeah, we hear ya bird-brain," Garosh replies, caressing his assault rifle somewhat disturbingly.

"Fuck off Garosh. Ana, you hearing me?"

"I got ya Jeerfan, you're not a _complete_ waste of space it seems," I reply with a laugh as he grumbles. Apparently the pre-fight banter you see in films is something that actually happens, and something that transcends race.

"How long should Kilat and I leave it before we make an entrance?" Jeerfan asks over the comms.

I turn to Garosh, since I have no idea what a good time frame for this sort of thing is.

"Two minutes," my best mate replies.

"Okay," I start, since despite what it seems like I'm apparently the captain in this situation, despite having absolutely no training whatsoever.

Hello deep end, nice to be thrown into you.

"We're coming up on the complex now," I say seriously, trying to sound commanding and kill off any nerves or humour I might still be definitely feeling. "Garosh and I are going to hit the lower floor on my signal, two minutes later Jeerfan and Kilat will infiltrate the top floor."

"While Garosh and I make as much noise as possible, since we have no idea how many people Mr Marks employs, you will sneak Jinta out. The moment you're out let us know, Garosh and I will then find Mr Marks and explain to him why fucking with us is a bad idea."

Silence meets me for a moment. "In the Hierarchy Military, we would salute, but that doesn't feel right. Don't the Humans say something? Hoo-hah?"

"That's the Americans, not sure what the English say? Tally ho?"

"Works for me," Garosh says with a toothy grin.

"Tally ho!" Kilat shouts a moment later, to which Garosh, Jeerfan and I respond with a shouted "TALLY HO!"

A moment later and we pull up on the Imrone Complex, the car settling down and hovering just outside the third from the top window on the side facing the Presidium, Jeerfan and Kilat's car swooping in on the other side a moment later.

Garosh opens the door and faces the window. I hold my hand out so he can see it in his peripheral. "On my mark," I can't help but whisper, despite there being no chance of anyone hearing me.

I count down from five, my heart thumping through my head with each second I count.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

"Let's make some noise."

Garosh crashes through the window, roaring a Krogan battle cry that rattles my bones. I hear a quick "Oh shit!" and then gunfire.

I follow Garosh the moment there's a lull in the shooting, jumping out of the car and through the window into a dark grey carpeted hallway with blue walls and a white ceiling. We've come in next to the stairwell, the entrance to which Garosh is hiding behind.

The hallway has several rooms, the first one a few feet ahead and to my right. The person who shouted, a Salarian, is hiding round the corner at the intersection, peeking round with a pistol at the ready.

I lock eyes with him for a second, and then I sprint for the room as the Salarian tries to get a bead on me, my shield flashing a few times; I can feel my heart leap into my throat at every flash, and can't contain a scream at the final flash.

Luckily his pistol doesn't seem to be on the same level as my Colossus shield, and I have time to open the door and rush inside, chest heaving to get air to shaking muscles.

I wait for my shield to recharge, then peek round the doorframe. The Salarian is still looking round the corner, which is his mistake. I lift my pistol, take a breath, aim, and then exhale as I squeeze the trigger, once, twice, three times.

His shield flashes twice, shattering with the second flash, and the third bullet clips him in the shoulder, to which he releases a pained cry as he stumbles from cover, clothes rapidly staining green. Garosh returns, loudly, and sprays down the hallway, hitting the Salarian a couple more times.

I cheer, but flinch back behind cover as two more people appear. One of them is unfortunately familiar, the younger Uteerian, Benner, white face paint snarling at me as the drywall splinters and cracks from his shots.

The other takes me a moment to place, but when I do I figure it out, the how of Walter Marks kidnapping Jinta falls into place. Safeda, the latest Asari to join the shelter, white flecked tattoos marking an impassive face, and a telltale blue glow letting me know what's about to happen.

"OH SHIT!"

I dive further into the room as a blue glow indicates the use of a singularity, one markedly bigger than the one Luiti used. I almost make it, but it catches my feet, and I scream as my nails drag on the carpet.

Just as I'm about to be dragged into the open the singularity dies, indicating that Safeda may be strong but doesn't have the best biotic stamina. I hurriedly scramble to my feet, re-affirming my grip on my pistol, requiring a quick wipe of my palms on my jeans, and blind fire round the corner.

"Kilat and I are a go," I almost don't hear through my omnitool over the beating of my heart, shockingly too since it doesn't feel like two minutes have gone by yet.

Return fire keeps me in cover for a moment, but the moment I hear the two go back to let their guns cool down, I shout "Go!" to Garosh, who roars and charges down the hallway. I lean out once he passes me to lay down covering fire, keeping the two from shooting Garosh as he charges.

Benner leans out the moment my pistol gets close to overheating, but by that point there's an angry Krogan picking him up and running with him through the wall into the room behind, leaving me with the powerful Asari; fun.

I wipe sweat from my brow, breathing heavily from the adrenaline, and check to make sure my gun is fully cooled, since I don't have power armour with a helpful HUD tracking all of those sort of things for me. Yet.

I carefully peek round the corner to see Safeda kneeling on the floor with her hands in the air and her gun thrown on the floor a few feet away.

"What?" I question out loud, because I was not expecting that at all.

"I ain't dying for that prick," she says with a nonchalant shrug. Which... makes sense I suppose; with Benner almost certainly dead she probably wouldn't stand a chance against both Garosh and I, and someone like Walter wouldn't inspire unwavering faith and loyalty I suppose.

"You kidnapped Jinta," I say accusingly, because I'm not really sure what to do here.

She shrugs again. "That was low, even for me, but Walter pays well," she looks at my expression, "... used to pay well," she amends. "I didn't expect you to come here guns blazing. Bad move by the way, that Drell is probably dead by now."

"We had another team sneak in once we drew all the attention. Jeerfan, status?" I ask, hitting the voice button on my omnitool so he can hear me, and hoping to high heaven that they've succeeded.

"We got Jinta, safe and sound. Found Mr Marks too, fried the lock on his door so he can't get out. Have fun." I breathe a sigh of relief, and can't help the bloodthirsty grin at Jeerfan's parting comment; all of this stress had to be good for something, after all.

"Well, colour me impressed, I didn't expect someone from the lower wards to be able to plan a combat manoeuvre like that," Safeda comments with not a little shock.

"Well, I'm not just anyone," I say as I pick up her pistol, and quickly pat her down for any more weapons.

"On that, we can agree," Safeda says with an odd tone, looking at me calculatingly.

"Garosh, you done in there? We've got a present waiting for us. Jeerfan even put a bow on it!" Garosh comes out of the room, and I pointedly ignore the blood dripping from his hands, indicating that he's beaten Benner into a paste.

"What's up with the Asari?" He asks gruffly.

"She surrendered; turns out people of Walter Marks' calibre tend not to inspire lethal levels of loyalty," I remark sarcastically, prompting a laugh.

"What are you going to do with me?" Safeda speaks up a moment later. Garosh and I train our guns on her as she stands up, but she keeps her hands up.

"We can't exactly tie you up," I sigh, making a mental note to take some hand ties next time, whenever and wherever the inevitable 'next time' comes. "Just, go away, leave, now. And I'm keeping your gun."

She nods, and squeezes past us to the stairwell. She disappears a moment later, and I can hear her receding footsteps on the metal stairs. When I'm sure she's gone, I turn to Garosh.

"You alright?" I ask, indicating his still dripping hands.

"I've never killed anyone in a blood rage before," he says quietly, and I can hear the shock in his voice. The problem is we haven't finished yet.

"We'll talk about this later, okay?" I say, putting my hand on his shoulder as comfortingly as I can, considering his shoulder is about four times larger than my hand.

He shakes his head, rolls his shoulders and stands up straight. "Let's open Jeerfan's present," he rumbles, indicating that he'll follow me. I carefully stalk towards the end of the corridor, seeing the elevators that indicate how Benner and Safeda arrived without taking the stairs.

I lead Garosh into the left one, and we (slowly; these are Mass Effect elevators) make our way to the top floor, quietly.

I check the corners as I step out of the elevator, keeping my pistol up, just in case. Nobody else pops out of the woodwork, but I check all of the rooms we go past just in case; most of them are full to the brim with unmarked crates.

I come across a door where the sensor isn't lit up, all greyed out, unlike the others which were all green. "Looks like we found our present," I say grimly, indicating that Garosh should open the lock since I have no idea how.

He laughs and shakes his head, so I poke my tongue out at him. A moment later and the sensor powers up and glows green. "After you," Garosh rumbles.

Keeping my pistol at the ready, and making sure my shields are at full, just in case, I slowly make my way into the room. Contrary to what I'm expecting, Walter is sitting behind his desk calmly, portraying the look of the stereotypical villain, despite the bead of sweat I can see rolling down his temple.

There's no weapon in his hands.

I walk up to the table, and then round it. I flex my hand to re-grip my gun, almost painfully aware of the sweat coating every inch of my skin.

Slowly, and deliberately, I place the barrel of my pistol against his forehead, behind his shields.

"Surely there's something-"

I pull the trigger.

His blood hits the wall with a muted splash, the grain of metal from my pistol travelling fast enough to drag some bone and grey matter out of the hole and onto the floor. I can't help but flinch.

"Let's go, before C-Sec shows up," I croak out, then pocket my pistol and make my way to the elevators, and then back to the window where our car is still waiting, all in silence.

We climb into the car and set a random destination. Garosh breaks the silence. "I know it feels like I ask you this a lot, but are you okay Ana?"

"Do you know what?" I say after a moment of reflection. "I think I am."


End file.
